


Dancing Like Butterfly Wings

by 0KKULTiC



Series: We Would Be Savage [6]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Ambassador!Soojin, Arguing, BestBoy!Jongho, Captain!Hongjoong, Chess, Crossdressing, Cyborg!Yeosang, Diplomacy, Fighting, FirstMate!Wooyoung, Gender Roles, HybridPilot!Yunho, Hybrids, I apologise to serious chess players, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jongho is woke, M/M, Mentioned (G)I-DLE Ensemble, Mentioned CLC Ensemble, NotPrince!Mingi, PrisonerPO!Seonghwa, Profanity, SassySecretary!Minnie, Sci-Fi, Science Fiction, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Siren!San, Sneaking Around, So you know the usual there, Space Pirates, Space Ships, WooSan snap, Yeosang is nosy as fuck, expect a change of pace from HALA HALA, i mean CONCERNED yeosang is just A CONCERNED CITIZEN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 16:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 55,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0KKULTiC/pseuds/0KKULTiC
Summary: After a week cruising on the down low, ATEEZ's crew is ready to finally follow the coordinates that followed the captain's log. They find themselves on luscious, verdant Amagee. Hongjoong wants nothing more than to track down whatever the Compass is pointing to and take his first genuine step closer to the Treasure.It's a huge relief to be on a planet where nobody wants to kill them on sight, but that doesn't mean it's going to easy. It looks like it'll take a few games of dress-up to get to the mysterious beacon indicated by the Compass. Unfortunately, looking cute for the Ambassador isn't the only challenge Hongjoong's crew has to work through.





	1. Chapter 1

Hazy blurriness obscures Hongjoong’s vision when he initially stirs. Shadows envelop his room, telling him what had woken him wasn’t the programmed daylight system. All he sees are dark, vague shapes. They’d gotten familiar over time - the grates of the blinds, the curve of his sitting table. Things that had once felt so foreign finally began to feel like his. 

But something is off.

Hongjoong blinks blearily, wiping his wrist across his eyes. It does little to give him clarity. Though he can’t see, there’s an unshakeable feeling of being watched. Paranoia seeps into his chest as he has a look around. It’s probably nothing, right? A figment of his imagination, some trick of the dark or the remnants of an anxious dream.

“H-Hongjoong?” A voice calls out.

Hongjoong jumps back, clutching his sheets. His mind reaches desperately for some sort of improvised weapon, but there’s nothing within reach. No lamp, no sharp object, not even a book. Anxiety spears him straight through the chest.

“Hongjoong,” The person - a man - sounds familiar yet far away. It’s a voice Hongjoong knows, he’s _certain_ he knows it. But to whom does it belong?

Out of the corner of his eyes, a figure looms. Tall, fit. Nothing else is really discernible in the darkness.

“Wh-who’s there?” Hongjoong croaks out, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Hongjoong is that- is that you?”

Joong clumsily paws at the wall behind him. There’s a control pad for the lights somewhere. He doesn’t take his eyes off of the looming silhouette for a second.

“Shit,” Joong hisses when the lights flicker on. The default for sleeping hours is fairly dim, and he still can’t make out much. The person’s hair is dark. Straight. For some reason, a shadow falls over their face.

The person steps over to the side of the bed,“Hongjoong- Hongjoong it’s okay, it’s me-”

_ Who? _ They’re not tall enough to be Mingi nor built stocky like Jongho.

“St-Stay away from me,” Joong tries to sound threatening. 

“Hongjoong it’s just me,” The person sounds… Tender. Reassuring. He knows that voice, he does. Yet, at the same time, he feels like he’s never heard it before. Then to whom does it belong? “Hongjoong…” They cautiously perch on the edge of the bed.

Hongjoong feels simultaenously affronted yet secure. The other’s proximity still upsets his rational mind, yet the nerves seizing in his guts relinquish. In spite of his better judgement, he allows the other to lean closer. It’s not as if he can escape, anyways.

“Hongjoong,” The voice asks, “Hongjoong what’s the time?”

“What?” All of the suspicion and doubt floods out of the captain’s system. It’s replaced with utter bafflement. “Wh- What are you-?”

A hand reaches out. It grazes Hongjoong’s cheek.

Warmth. Radiating warmth comes from the spot of contact. It’s overwhelming, so much so that Hongjoong feels his toes curl and his breath hitch. A thumb strokes his cheekbone gingerly. Involuntarily, Hongjoong’s eyes flutter shut.

“Hongjoong,” They ask again softly. “I’m sorry.” The hand just caressing his cheek cups it, and _god_. Does the captain keen at that. He didn't realize that he’d been so starved of contact, of affection. His crew is loving. They’ll heap themselves on him or wrap their arms loosely around his waist, but this… It’s different. Why is it so different and dizzying? His head swims.

He’s powerless to protest when the blurry figure leans in and presses a chaste kiss on top of his head. Joong barely feels the contact, but it further stirs the slurry of his thoughts. Another rush of warmth washes over him gently - like a small wave licking at his toes during low tide. The man withdraws, but Hongjoong’s quick to grab the guy’s shirt. The fabric feels a bit worn which does little to tell him about the mysterious guest.

“Wait-” Hongjoong whispers. He looks up - the other’s taller than him. That he can tell for certain. He tries to find just about where the man’s eyes would be. Though he can’t see them, he opts to gaze intently at their approximation. 

“Who are you?” The captain asks.

He’s met with silence. The other’s posture locks up slightly. He’s thinking, contemplating his words. Why does he need to choose them so carefully?

“Not yet,” The man whispers back.

“That’s not an answer.”

The other lets out a chuckle in the form of a soft exhale, “He said this would happen… I have to go.” His hand drops from Hongjoong’s cheek, and he stands up.

“Wh- But-!” Hongjoong clumsily leaps off the bed toward the other. His limbs tangle with his sheets, and instead of landing on his feet, the artificial gravity sends him to the floor. The captain squeezes his eyes shut as he watches the metal floor rapidly approaching his poor, defenseless face.

_ “-Knock.” _

Hongjoong sits up abruptly and gasps for air. His heart hammers, and a cold sweat clams up his skin. His chest heaves as he rapidly tries to catch his breath. Head whipping around, he tries to piece together what the hell just happened.

_   
_ _ “Knock. Knock.” _

Joong’s head whips toward the door.

“Captain?” It’s Yeosang. 

“Wh- Wha…?” The captain babbles to himself, still half-asleep and for some reason sweltering hot. Everything looks the same as it did when he went to bed. There’s no sign of forced entry or a mysterious man. His sheets are neatly tucked around him and his pillows in order.

It was a dream.

_ “Knock. Knock. Knock.” _

“Captain?” Yeosang is starting to sound concerned.

Joong paws around clumsily to find the little control console by the bed. Something about the action gives him deja vu. When he finds it, he traverses a few menus until he finds the “answer door call” option. While ATEEZ is a tad sterile, Hongjoong adores its high-tech features. It’s so much nicer than his old heap. He never dreamed he’d have a ship on which he could answer the door from his  _ bed  _ \- let alone have a video call.

A holo screen pops up with the image of a sleepy Yeosang. He’s got half of his hair tucked in a beanie and a big sweatshirt sags on his frame.

“Captain,” The cyborg raises his brows. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“I probably needed it, anyway,” Hongjoong replies, turning on the lights. Diffused morning daylight - yup, it’s time to be up and at ‘em. “It’s not, like, late, is it?” He glances at the time. It’s just between eight and nine AM CMT (Coalition Mandated Time). It’s later than he usually wakes up, but in lieu of their near-death on the Stray Boyz ship, they all agreed to say fuck alarms. Even without the programmed wake-up call, Hongjoong finds himself unable to sleep much past the single digit hours of the morning anyway.

“Nah. You know how it is. San’s up. Yunho’s sort of awake. Mingi will be out for another two hours,” Yeo shrugs. “You, uh, were you- are you okay, captain?”

“Hm?” Hongjoong’s eyes go wide.

“I just- You look a little sweaty.”

“Wha- I’m fine. I just. Had a weird dream is all,” Hongjoong worries at his lower lip. He’d just woken up minutes ago, but he’s already forgotten half of what happened. There was… A man? 

And a kiss. There was definitely a kiss - that’s for sure. It wasn’t, like, a big deal though. Just on the forehead. It felt nice. And real. So, so real… 

“Captain?” Yeosang’s voice pulls Hongjoong out of his daze.

“Sorry, um- Why are you knocking on my door again? Please recall I have not had my coffee yet.”

Yeosang presses his lips together anxiously, “You said today’s the day.”

Hongjoong blinks once. Then twice. It’s the third or fourth that finally sparks his memory regarding what “the day” entails.

It’s been one week since ATEEZ’s run-in with the Stray Boyz. That’s the agreed upon amount of rest time they’d decided. Seven days doesn’t seem like a lot of time; but, given how chaotic things have been since getting arrested on KQ, it  _ feels  _ like a lifetime. Just seven days of uninterrupted putzing around the ship, pressing buttons and playing games. 

Hongjoong watched over his crew and studied the Compass, hoping for a whisper of functionality. He still can’t fathom what caused that electrical discharge when the ship had been boarded, but he hopes it doesn’t happen to him. Yunho had been showing Mingi “the ropes of interstellar travel” or something. In reality, Joong mostly observed the canis drooling while the (not) prince unsubtly threw himself at the other. It’s sort of cute. At least, it  _ was _ sort of cute. Now it’s sickening, a testament to the fact that a week is plenty of break time. Of course, he’d take third wheeling with Yunho and Mingi over sharing space with Wooyoung and San any day. Those two are… Tense. The air between them is thick and caustic. There’s a lot of dirty and desperate looks going back and forth, accompanied by exactly zero words. Yuck. Thankfully Yeosang and Jongho are bastions of sanity. Jongho’s been sparring with San - a great way for the siren to vent frustration and for the youngest to learn legitimate combat. Yeosang is a person who always manages to keep himself busy. He constantly makes little projects for himself while also taking the heft of ship maintenance work. Honestly, the guy’s a godsend, and Hongjoong wishes he could buy the cyborg a cake or something in gratitude.

As nice as the break is, it’s very apparent everyone’s got cabin fever. The captain is no exception. Sure, as a kid he happily lazed around for days upon days during summer breaks. He felt content hunkering down under a heap of blankets and only moving out of complete necessity. Now more than a day and a half of nothingness makes him antsy. He’s so used to go, go, go, go - stopping makes it weird. Sure, his body gets some rest, but his mind sure as hell doesn’t. Suddenly, all he has is time. Time to pore over all the thoughts he’d put off, the stresses, the realities, the implications of his actions, the  _ consequences _ . That’s not even including the interpersonal shit that’s gone down as of late. It all boggles his mind. Honestly, he’s more than ready to throw himself at something.

They never made it to those coordinates they’d gotten after the captain’s log. So, finally, after escaping hell and taking a load off, today’s the day. It’s the day they’re going to truly set their course. 

“Right,” Hongjoong coughs out, trying to clear the lingering fogginess from his head. “Today’s the day.”

  
“Should we wake everybody up? Or… Do you wanna wait?”

“No, no,” Joong shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m… I’m gonna wake up. Let everyone wake up naturally, too. With all the fuel we got, we can jump, right?”

“Yes, captain.”

  
“It’ll be fast, then.”

“Fast-ish. Depending on the time it might be more practical to run a short jump and cruise overnight,” Yeo shrugs. “But if we warp around noon our time, we should be able to have a reasonable day. Wherever we go.”

“Right. Let’s shoot for that, then,” The sooner the better, the captain muses. “Now, um, what do we know about this planet?”

“That’s actually why I came to get you. I think it’s best you be briefed in person about this place. Actually, I think we all ought to.”

Hongjoong’s brows knit together, “What? Why? Don’t tell me it’s some Coalition base.”

“No, no nothing like that, but it is a sort of… Exclusive planet. One we might have to mind ourselves on.”

That sounds… Concerning. So far the team’s zero for three in terms of keeping a low profile. (Zero for four if the Stray Boyz stronghold is included.) ATEEZ’s crew has many talents, but “minding themselves” isn’t one of them.

“Yeosang,” Hongjoong breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I changed my mind.”

“What? Wait, about what?”

“I’m gonna wake everyone up,” Hongjoong says. “I wanna make sure everyone’s briefed on this place before we get near even the outer reaches of its quadrant.”

“O-Okay. That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong throws his sheets off and swings his legs over the side of his bed. “I’m getting up now.”

“I’ll help you wake everyone up.”

“Let’s talk over late breakfast. Say half an hour from now?”

  
“Sounds good, captain.”

“Oh- And before you go. Thanks, Yeo.”

The cyborg grins and shrugs, “It’s the least I can do. You gave me a home.”

“Wh- Come on now. What’re you getting all soft on me for?”

“Must be the cabin fever,” Yeo chuckles. “Over and out.”

_ “Click.” _

The feed dies, and the screen disappears. Hongjoong wrings a hand through his hair. It’s time to start the day. More importantly, it’s time to start the next adventure. Hopefully, this time, nobody will try and kill them. Fingers crossed.

The distraction is more than welcome, and soon all Hongjoong can think about is this mysterious, “exclusive” planet. The thoughts of his crew’s wellbeing, the state they left the hangar in, his own injuries, the Petty Officer, and the mysterious man from his dreams all fall to the wayside. He’s got more important things to worry about now. There is one prevailing thought that runs through his head as he tosses clothes on and hurries to the galley:

  
It’s time to hunt for Treasure.

* * *

“The planet is called Amagee,” Yeosang announces to those sitting around the table. As promised, he’d helped Hongjoong gather the fine crew of ATEEZ to the breakfast table. Coerced with promises of congee and a few amicable threats, the crew gathered in the kitchen by nine-thirty. Now they sit, bellies full and eyes trained on the projected screen panels above the table. (Aside from Mingi who’s snoozing shamelessly on Yunho’s shoulder.) Yeosang and Hongjoong stand at one side while the others sit at the opposite. 

Yeo nods to the displayed holo screens. One displays some basic data while the other scrolls through pictures. Amagee’s a fairly lush earth transplant, and the images boast verdant forests and prettily manicured urbanscapes.

“Amagee isn’t Coalition controlled,” The captain adds, “But they are allied. Like Venus.” He looks pointedly at the snoozing Venusian. “Like  _ Venus _ .”

“Ff-Wha-?” Mingi sniffles, stretching languidly.

“Thank you,” The captain says dryly.

Yeosang carries on, “Like I said, Amagee isn’t Coaliton controlled, but they are allies. The presence there shouldn’t be too much, but we have to behave and keep a low profile.”

“That means no sneaking off into politicians’ bedrooms,” The captain adds, raising his brows at Yunho. The canis chuckles sheepishly, and his ears tint pink.

“However, that’s not the real hitch about this planet,” Yeosang continues. “Is… Anyone familiar?”

“The name sounds… Vaguely familiar?” “Not really.” “I might’ve heard of it once, but it can’t be  _ that _ place…” “Nope.”

“Thought so,” The cyborg says. “What sets Amagee apart is its population. Amagee has one strict rule regarding its populous. To put it simply: they’re all women.”

“Say wha-?” “Come again?” “Hm?” A variety of baffled expressions come in response. “That’s- That’s a joke, right?” “A whole planet of pretty girls…” “I’m awake- I’m awake-” “I haven’t seen a girl in ages.”

“I’m serious,” Yeosang insists, pointing to the Coalition database’s entry for the planet. “The native population is almost exclusively made up of femme humanoids. Men are granted citizenship only through marriage or if taking asylum under special circumstances.”

Jongho raises his hand - actually raises his hand, like he’s in  _ school _ \- and comments, “Yeah- Question.”

Yeo quirks an eyebrow, “Yes, Jongho?”

“What do they do if they give birth to a son?”

“Wh- Why would I know that?” Yeo’s cheeks burn. Even though it’s information completely extraneous to him, he feels embarrased not knowing it.

“I’m just saying if this planet was established in-” The youngest gestures to the screen, “-in 2674, wouldn’t they have, like, a few guys?”

“They might have a few penises, if that’s what you mean. But, even then, genetic biomedicine has advanced a shit-ton,” The cyborg shrugs. “I guess if they really wanted to, they could assure that not a single one comes out of the womb.”

Hongjoong interjects, steering everyone back on task, “The point is, we’re gonna stick out a bit. That’s fine, because as per the Coalition documentation loaded onto the ships server, they do accept visitors. Not for long durations, though, so we have to be fast. Any questions?” 

“When you say fast,” Wooyoung asks, “Like how fast? We have a day’s time? Are we gonna be there overnight? Two nights?”

San cuts in, “Well, if it’s time you’re worried about I’ve no doubt whatever business you have would take no more than five minutes. A night seems excessive.” He takes a sip of his tea coolly, not even sparing the human a glance.

Mingi’s eyes blow wide open. Jongho spits coffee back into his mug. Wooyoung’s grip on his own cup tightens, but he doesn’t respond. A thick fog of awkwardness rolls in, almost suffocating everyone. Jongho’s hand shoots up in a rush to disperse it.

“Question,” Jongho blurts out.

Yeosang pinches the bridge of his nose, “Yes, Jongho?”

“Why is there a planet of only women?”

“What?”

  
“Like, why only women?”

“Wh- Their founders colonized the planet to escape oppression or something. I-”

“Isn’t it a bit hypocritical then? Is it not oppressive to enforce that all inhabitants align with a specific pole on the binary-”

“ _ Thank you _ , Jongho,” Yeosang interjects, “For your intellectually stimulating questions. I am sure a local would be happy to answer those. Are there any other questions that I  _ can _ answer?”

Yunho queries, “How do we know what we’re looking for?”

Okay. That’s a good one - one Yeo had been hoping someone would ask. The cyborg tries to suppress the massive smile tickling his lips and nods.

“Well I have good news and better news,” He grins, giving Joong a satisfied sideways glance. He’d surprised the captain first, and Hongjoong was thrilled. All the time off gave the cyborg ample time to tinker. After being separated, he realized how crucial communication between them is. Of course, that’s getting ahead of things. At the very least, the preface makes the crowd brighten up, and all the heaviness in the air lifts.

Yeosang continues, “Well first with the good news, the captain and I studied the coordinates closely and after parsing them, we reached the conclusion that it’s not just pointing us to a planet - but to a particular spot on that planet.”

“Whoa.” “Wait, you mean-” “A spot?” “What spot?”

Hongjoong elaborates excitedly, “Like this is an actual place on the planet. It’ll guide is right there, to the exact spot on this planet that the Compass is pointing to.”

“Oh shit.” “Oh.” “Well, damn.” “Hm.”

“Which,” Yeosang picks it up, “Brings me to my next, even better bit of news. Since we might not necessarily be able to plot our ship right down on site, we need a way to find the place sooo…” He fishes a pile of slender objects out of his pocket.

At a glance, they almost look like glassy cards. He fans all seven of them out on the table in front of everyone, and they crowd around, eyeing the unfamiliar things dubiously. Yeosang grabs one and taps its center. The once lifeless hunk of treated metallic glass lights up with a genial “Welcome :) !”; Everyone gasps.

“Wait is that-” “Where did you get these?” “Are those-”

“I thought it’d be best if we all had communicators,” Yeosang feels blush creep up his neck and onto his cheeks. “One for each of us. Y-You can take one-”

“Whoa-!” “Holy shit.” “What is this?” “What’s this do?” “Oh- Fuck- It’s on-”

“Hey- Hey, wait!” Hongjoong draws everyone’s attention away from the little screens. “Let the man explain his invention!”

“I- I didn’t  _ invent _ communicators,” Yeosang scratches his nape shyly. “It was just a little side project, really. I brought some scrap on and needed to do something with it…”

  
“No,” Woo chuckles. “You just built a few from scratch. No big deal.” He raises his brows facetiously. San taps his cautiously and jolts slightly when a light comes on; meanwhile, Yunho turns it over in his hand, curious as to how the screen displays on one side yet is completely invisible on the other.

“If- If I may,” Yeo attempts to reel everyone in. “Guys?”

“What’s this?” “What does it mean ‘six in range’?” “So I just… Touch this? And it- it makes the words?” “Oh- Oh god it’s floating. Wait- How did I turn on free float how do I stop this-”

“Guys?”

“Um, I think you press that?” “What does this picture mean?” “Oh, look, it like follows your gaze, oooh-” “What’s that word say?”

“Guys?”

“That is ‘geolocation’.” “O-Oh.”  _ “Buzz… Buzz…” _ “Oh- Oh my- It’s making a noise! Did I break it?!”

Hongjoong shouts,“Guys!” Everyone glances up all at once, sheepish expressions of shame painted across their faces. They all cough awkwardly and set the screens down.

“Th-thank you,” Yeosang mutters. “U-Um, anyways, if I could, like, walk you through…”

“Yeah.” “Go ahead.” “Sorry…”

“I- I know we all have varying levels of experience with stuff like this, so,” Yeosang flourishes the one he’d been holding, “Um, yeah, you tap it and it’ll bring you to the menu. It’s really, um, rudimentary- sorry for that-”

“Wh- No.” “No need to apologize.” “It’s more than fine.” 

“Uh- Anyways,” The cyborg coughs. It feels weird for all eyes to be on him. He’s not exactly the loudest or most boisterous of the bunch. He’s more used to sitting on the sidelines and watching (read: laughing at) the others. “Like, if you see the list, on top is the geolocation. It’s a map. I ripped all the maps off of the in-ship Coalition ones - so, they should be pretty accurate? Um, it’ll have a beacon for what we’re tracking. I programmed in our coordinates and a- a beacon for yourself. You can turn on tracking for others, but right now I have that off.”

The crowd nods in understanding. Save for San, who, while nodding, appears more last than anything else. 

Yeo moves along, “You just, um, tap the little home icon to go to the menu. Then there’s three basic modes of communicaton that you see here. The messenger which works like any basic text-based comm application, the phone icon is for, well, like a phone. Voice chat. Then there’s video. 

“Um, right now these have no built-in memory or storage, really. So, like, none of the calls will be archived or logged. For that reason, there's no real camera though there is a microcam front and back. Images can be sent as well but not saved. I dunno, I might, like, fuck around and build a server or something. Some remote storage so we can save these things…”

“Damn.” “Set up a what?” “Might fuck around and set up a server- okay.”

“So, um, yeah that’s it. Like I said, it’s basic, but- Oh, one more thing,” Yeo holds up a finger. “This is not the same as a real communicator, okay? It doesn’t utilize any planetary or interstellar comm networks. Think of it more as, like, a sophisticated walkie?”

“A walkie?” “Wait- Really?” “What is that? A walkie?”

“Essentially: these have a limited range. It’s a damn high range- like, five-thousand kilometer radius. But, still, if you’re out of range you won’t be able to communicate. Also, they all operate on a single closed frequency. This assures we can’t be tracked and that nobody’s listening in. It should be a safe alternative to communicators so, that way, if we’re ever separated again we’re not totally isolated. Sorry, it doesn’t have a ton of features, but- Oof.”

Before he can finish, bodies fly toward Yeosang. Hongjoong is the closest, so he’s the first to wrap his arms around Yeosang and squeeze him tight. Everyone else quickly follows suit, a couple jumping over the table while those with more sense walk around it.

“Oh- Oh god,” Yeosang wheezes. The others don’t let up. As a matter of fact, they take his airy proclamation as a prompt to squeeze harder. Yunho’s got his arms around the cyborg’s waist while Hongjoong nuzzles his shoulder. Woo’s mirroring the captain while San and Mingi sandwich him. Jongho manages to duck under San to snuggle up to Yeo’s stomach. In seconds, even that semblance of order deteriorates, and at some point Yeosang loses his balance. “G-Guys?”

“Thank you, Yeosang.” “We love you.” “I appreciate it!” “You’re seriously amazing.” “We love you.” “Even if I don’t understand it, I love it!”

“Guys I’m falling- guys, we’re falling-” Yeo crumbles onto the ground, and the others just heap on top of him. There’s a knee poking his thigh and a chin digging into his throat, so, that’s a thing. All the while, Wooyoung’s making weird squeaking noises, and San is practically yelling in his face.

“H-Help?” Yeosang’s face blazes from blushing. He’s not used to this kind of attention or affection. The last time he’s gotten this much aggressive love was…

Has he  _ ever _ ?

He can recall only one occasion that was remotely similar. It’s a vague memory, but a fond one regardless. 

Once, as a child, he made his mum a tiny robot for her birthday. They were both still alive at the time, so he couldn’t have been older than five. In all honesty, the workmanship was shoddy at best. He still can envision the tiny metal man’s awkward limp and the horrible sounds it made. He stayed up past bedtime, tinkering by the glow of his nightlight. Not even his dad knew what he’d been working on. Upon unveiling it, the two beamed. Then, they proceeded to damn near squeeze the life out of him and kiss him so many times his cheeks got sore. At the time, he thought it was drippy and gross and excessive. But, now… 

Tears well up in his eyes, and with them comes a tinge of embarrassment. They’re just hugging the life out of him for fuck’s sake. What’s there to cry about?

“Can’t breathe,” Yeo sniffles. After a few more weak pleas, the others got the idea and slowly disentangled themselves. Yeo scoops his body off the floor as the others return to their seats. He tries to be as subtle as possible while wiping his eyes. 

When everyone at least mostly quiets down, the captain speaks again, “Be ready for jump in an hour. That ought to get us to the planet by early afternoon. And remember- _low_ _profile_.” He squints at Wooyoung specifically who shrugs indignantly in response. “Good. Let’s finish our breakfast, then.” 

Yeosang heaves a sigh of relief as he takes a seat next to the captain. His stomach had knotted itself up with nerves regarding the communicators. He’s so, so glad they went over well. That’s one thing taken care of. There is something else that’s been bothering him, though. And the thing about the curious cyborg is, he can’t really get distractions out of his head. They tend to be persistent and annoying, like a fly buzzing around, demanding attention. 

Before Joong starts really digging in, Yeo leans over and whispers, “Captain, I can take him breakfast again today.” He watches carefully, gauging the other’s reaction.

A tiny sliver of guilt trickles into Yeo’s chest. He doesn’t like monitoring his captain, per se. It’s not that he really  _ wants _ to monitor the other’s change in heart rate and body temperature. However, Hongjoong has left him no choice. He’s been incredibly dismissive and uncommunicative verbally. It has to be this way.

Yeo toggles to thermal and watches the other’s temp spike. It tends to do that when the Petty Officer is mentioned. Even the mere use of “he” triggers the reaction - just the implication, the thought of him. Even if discussed with the most sterile, bland language. The captain’s heart rate hastens as well. Interesting. 

Of course, the PO being a trigger for Hongjoong isn’t exactly news. It’s a consistent truth at this point. For the past week, Yeosang’s been doing it - mentioning him, trying to talk about him, attempting to figure out just  _ why _ Hongjoong brought him back in the first place. Every single time, Joong has the same reaction. Unfortunately, the mere change in bodily condition does little to point to a specific emotion. Is it regret? Anger? What is he feeling every time the other is mentioned? The acute increase in heartrate indicates that it must be intense. It’s not a slight hop or brief instant, typically the effect is fairly prolonged.

But why?  _ Why _ ?

“You know someone else can go,” Hongjoong says. Shit. Yeo feels silly for not toggling audio wave displays. His voice’s inflection changed for sure. That would be more telling than  _ anything _ . “You’ve done so much already. We can just, like, spin a bottle or something.”

Yeosang shakes his head in protest, “I insist. To be frank, I think he affects me less than he does you- or any of the others-” The intentional slip of speech elicits a flare of the nostrils from the captain. Noted. “-since I’ve had the least… Time with him.” Yeo shrugs. “I mean, basically, I don’t think he’s that mean.”

“It’s not that much of a bother, really,” The captain says. “And I’m sure most the others are fine, but if you insist I doubt anyone’ll fight you for it.” He tries to sound aloof, but Yeo’s almost positive analyzing the waves in retrospect will yield some informative shifts.

“I just wanna be of help,” That’s the truth, and Honjoong smiles at that.

“You are very helpful, trust me,” Joong replies. “You’re, like, the only other sane person here.”

Apparently, Jongho heard that, and he gasps with offense,“Wh- I am  _ very  _ sane! I can’t believe this!” He throws his hands up dramatically. “I bust my ass and you all pay me dirt. Dirt!”

“We love you!” Hongjoong laughs.

“He never said the other sane person was him,” Yeosang adds with a smirk. “Obviously  _ we’re  _ the sane ones.”

Hongjoong guffaws at that, “Wh- Hey!”

“Thank you,” Jongho responds. “At least  _ somebody _ appreciates me.”

Yeo blows a kiss jokingly, and the others start going back and forth about who’s really the most sane. The battle of wills in intense. It’s the type of argument that ultimately yields no winners. Soon, people start dispersing. Wooyoung is first, eager to doll himself up for a day “among dolls” as he put it. Then Mingi and San. The Venusian promises San a tutorial on the communicator so he can be proficient before they land. Finally, Jongho and Yunho stride off to their rooms after messing around with their comms. Hongjoong is last save for Yeosang. The cyborg can’t help noticing how the other lingers, keeping a watch on his mechanic. Does it have something to do with the petty officer?

No matter.

After a while, he too goes to his room. Yeosang opts to make today’s breakfast visitation fast. In not an hour, their newest adventure will be upon them, and they’ll greet the verdant femme utopia, Amagee.

* * *

“Hand please,” The rather unamused looking woman at the customs desk waves to Hongjoong.

  
Just as planned, they jumped. ATEEZ lucked out with atmospheric patrols - or, more properly: the lack thereof. True to the Coalition’s slightly dated info, Amagee doesn’t heavily screen visitors. It’s fairly surprising, considering their stringent residencey policies. Hongjoong wonders if they do it on purpose, like they  _ want _ the rest of the universe to see how well they’re doing. 

Judging by what little he’s seen, they’re definitely doing fine without the other half. More than fine. Of course, all he’s done so far is land the ship in a docking lot for visitors without visas. So far his limited impression is as follows:

The place is pretty. It’s so, so green, but peeking out from the canopy he notices the tips of buildings and winding roadways. Even from high above in the sky, he noticed the hustle and bustle of the city. Insect-sized figures skirted around the walkways busily. Part of him wishes he could really delve into this new, unfamiliar place and explore. But a bigger part of him really, really wants to sprint to the Compass’s coordinates straight away.

But first: customs.

Hongjoong extends his hand as instructed.

“Back of the hand up,” The lady corrects him. She eyes the long queue behind him. As glamorous as lowering onto the planet Amagee was, what followed was anything but. A patrolwoman met them by the loading ramp and clippedly waved them over to a building near the entrance. Apparently, early afternoon is a peak time, because dozens of visitors clamored for the place. Almost all of them looked to be gawking men, which did nothing to ease the shame creeping up Hongjoong’s spine. It doesn’t matter what their intentions actually are. It’s clear from the dead look in the customs worker’s eyes that she’s already made her assumption.

Joong obliges her order, giving her the back of his hand. Without even looking, she presses a stamp on the top of Hongjoong’s hand. The captain inspects it. It’s a pretty violet flower. He raises his brows inquisitively.

The agent flatly explains,“This is your visitor’s stamp. Curfew is ten o’clock for visitors unless a local signs off for them. It’ll turn color and become very luminescent if you’re not back to your ship by curfew.”

“Wh- This is tracking me?!” Hongjoong asks, eyes wide with indignation.

“The stamp responds to lights. Only the lights in the dockyard will assure it remains a ‘safe’ color.”

“O-Oh,” Hongjoong coughs sheepishly.

“Remember: ten o’clock.”

“Next,” The agent barks to Woo who’d been behind Joong in line. Hongjoong frowns, eyeing the massive queue they’d waited in too long. No wonder the lady is judging them, there are probably a lot of people with preferences to feminine types who just come to drool. It makes the whole exclusivity thing feel kind of justified. Hongjoong wouldn’t wanna let people like this on his planet, either.

The more seconds that pass the more antsy Hongjoong feels. He wants out of the stuffy patrol building and into the damn city already. Amagee is absolutely fascinating - not just for its relatively heterogeneous population. What he really wants to know is what the hell is in this place that made the Compass point to it?

The Compass.

Just thinking about it makes butterflies dance in his stomach. It’s a sort of excited giddiness outlined by anxiety. In truth, while he’s always put his whole soul into believing in it, there’s always the ever present shred of skepticism. The Compass has brought him to quite a few interesting places, and he’s met some lifelong allies because of it. But… Does that mean it will lead him to the Treasure, too? Nothing has concretely presented itself as “TREASURE” quite yet. He’s holding out hope that maybe this time they’re not nearly fucking killed and perhaps, just perhaps, he’ll get some hints about the Treasure.

“That all of you?” The customs agent asks scanning ATEEZ’s crew. Hongjoong glances down the line. There’s him, Wooyoung (who is shamelessly bouncing with glee), Jongho, Yunho, Mingi, and San. Yeosang insisted on staying back to do “ship maintenance”. When Hongjoong pressed him, he admitted otherwise, though. Yeo’s still running tests. He is convinced that there is something wrong with him. Some bug, some deceptive little plant placed by the nefarious scientist who’d dissected him. Though at this point Hongjoong wishes he would let it go, he knows it’s not his place. Hell, he would be paranoid, too. He hopes Yeosang finds whatever it is he’s looking for - be it a wiretap or some peace of mind.

“That’s everyone, officer,” Hongjoong responds. 

“Right,” She presses a button on her desk, and the red projected “X” that had been barring them turns into a green “O”. “Proceed through the gate in a single-file line, please.”

The captain leads his crew in accordance to the order. Past the projected gate is a small lobby area with a few benches and little droids floating around. The cute little robots are equipped with short arms upon which are perched pamphlets. Their round bodies don fluttering wings of light - a detail Joong isn’t quite sure is functional or cosmetic. They seem sort of small to be legitimate wings and don intricate, twirly engravings. Even with their quirky, cute styling the shape of the bots reminds Hongjoong of BH Colony. The sight irks him slightly, and he recoils when one approaches him.

“Welcome to Tierrohada,” The bot chirps in a high-pitched, friendly tone. Little “eyes” light up in crescents - some robotic facsimile of a smile. The effect is actually fairly convincing, it genuinely looks like a happy robot. However, the ones in BH seemed harmless, too. Hongjoong doesn’t trust them.

The floating fairy-bot extends the arm protruding beneath it, presenting a variety of pamphlets, “Would you like any information on upcoming events and attractions? Some of our visitor favorites include: microwinery tours, the yarn district, Tierrohada Botanical Gardens, historic Roja village, the Luz Roja district-“

“U-Uh- That’s fine,” Hongjoong awkwardly stutters back. He checks on his crew to assure they haven’t wandered off. A repeat of Venus is the  _ last _ thing they need. Luckily, they’re all present. Yunho’s tail wags as he chatters with Mingi a few meters off, and Jongho scratches his chin as he flips through a pamphlet. San stands nearby with arms crossed and eyes trained on the floor while Wooyoung gawks at everything. As if a damn customs building is even exciting.

“Have a good afternoon!” The tourism bot’s projected eyes form crescents again. “Remember, curfew is at ten o’ clock. All unsigned for violators shall be swiftly removed and blacklisted. Thank you for visiting Tierrohada!”

Swiftly removed, huh?

Hongjoong can't help picturing one of those little purple fae bots splitting open and forming a guillotine or something. Yikes. He shakes off the ill feeling pooling in his gut and tries to rally his crew.

“Guys?” He nods toward the wide double doors through which sunlight pours in. It’s a beautiful afternoon on Amagee - in Tierrohada, the apparent name of the city. “Let’s go.”

“Wh-“ “Oh-“ “Yes, captain.” Everyone scurries forward, grouping into a tight knit cluster. Hongjoong chuckles inwardly. So he’s not the only one nervous. There’s a sort of buzz that resonates around the group of six. There’s worry in there, along with excitement and wonder. A new planet, a new city, a new adventure and a new culture, and with it, a new set of risks. Hongjoong takes a deep breath, casting a final glance over his shoulder before stepping through the automatic doors. 

It’s a beautiful afternoon, perhaps just a tad too warm if anything, but lovely. It is so incredibly wonderful to breathe in air that hasn’t been processed and recycled. The captain takes a deep breath upon stepping out. It’s… Fresh, grassy almost. Surprisingly so for an urbanscape. However, upon adjusting to the bright sunlight, Hongjoong understands why. Tierrohada is just as lush as it had looked from above. It’s so vastly different from Venus. Hongjoong’s brows raise as he slowly steps forward, taking it all in. Though he’d seen roadways from above, it appears that the docking lot lets out into a strictly pedestrian area.

Lining paths of laid stone are short buildings - three to four stories, perhaps. Many have balconies jutting out. Their faces vary in color and even shape. Some have short, round doors and swirling patterns of inlaid brick while others appear to be flat and colorful - a metal treated to look like concrete? Crawling up the facets of almost every building is green ivy. Flashes of brilliant flora pock the greenery - brilliant, bursting yellow and fiery, deep red. Behind or between buildings (Joong can’t tell) grow tall trees with wide, sloping foliage. Their canopies bow inward, in many spots entirely covering the luminous cobblestone of the street like a verdant roof. 

While Neith’s capital carefully manicured greenery to fit within its confining aesthetic, Tierrohada designed around it. Urban structures are woven seamlessly with plant life. Even though there is an incredible amount of greenery, never does it seem to actually impose on the structures. It’s as if both had been carefully put together with the intention of being harmonious. It’s green but not overgrown, organic yet modern.

Just at the mouth of the tourist center, there are still mostly masculine types. As the crew advances, an amalgam of gawking and awed chit-chat, that population of tourists disperse. The six of them approach what appears to be an intersection, and suddenly the relatively sleepy visitor entry meets what looks like a main thoroughfare.

“Holy whoa,” Hongjoong gasps unintentionally. He snaps his mouth closed when a passing local glares at him. It’s just that he can’t help it. Amagee is so unapologetically feminine. It’s light and airy and refreshing and bursting with life. It makes Honjoong realize just how much  _ masculine _ energy he’d been surrounded by since, well, it feels like ages now. Even prior to getting imprisoned, it was primarily just him and Yunho. If they weren’t hocking junk, odds were they didn’t come across a ton of different people at all. The two preferred to keep to themselves (once upon a time). God, that feels so far away.

Now, though. Now Hongjoong feels light and giddy and excited. Yes, by the most promising prospect of the Compass, but also by the people. Finally, he’s around people who aren’t stuck up, filthy-rich or grisly thug types hellbent on killing him. Tierrohada’s people appear as diverse as their architecture. There are people young, old, and middle aged. Some bounce babies in their bosom while others skip hand-in-hand. Some look leaner than a rail while others boast more curves than an hourglass. It’s strangely disarming to see so many different types of people. Hongjoong feared he’d feel constantly anxious, like he sticks out. Yet, for some reason, he’s never felt more at ease. (Thinking on it more, he realizes, that’s probably because for the first time in too long, nobody’s trying to fucking kill him.)

“Whoa…” “So pretty.” “This place values nature.” “Ff— Oh god, I walked into a branch-“ “Did you see her? She was so prett- Oh my god, wow, did you see her? She was so pr-“ “Wow, you all need to step up.”

The crew ambles down a pedestrian street lined with more businesses. People relaxedly sip coffee under the awnings of street cafes and read tablets on benches. Many of the shop doors are open, inviting passersby into boutiques, restaurants, salons, galleries and even one-room museums. Hongjoong nearly gets sucked into the shopping when his attention gets snagged by a sign reading “BUY ONE GET ONE POETRY ANTHOLOGIES”. 

No, he reminds himself. Not today. Probably. Maybe? He’s not sure. It’s not his priority - that’s the point. No. Because his priority is currently marked on a tiny screen comm in his pocket. 

“Okay, guys,” Hongjoong turns, praying the other five are still in the vicinity. Thankfully, they are (though their gazes are everywhere but on him). “I’ve got the map up here, so, um, follow me. Seems like this thing’s a decent ways into the city… Like, into the heart of the city.”

San, one of the few who visibly pays attention, withdraws his own and glances at the cityscape, “Quite curious, don’t you think, captain?”

“What is, exactly?” Hongjoong tries not to bump into anyone on the busy street. The flashing beacon appears to be about three kilometers away. Not too bad of a walk, but not exactly a fun one, either.

“Well, no matter where we look there is city, no?” San remarks. “Don’t you think it curious the Compass would lead to somewhere so… Populated? Isn’t the Treasure a guarded secret?”

“I dunno about that,” Yunho comments, skipping up to the other two. “I mean, it’s a legendary story. They tell it on Venus and even Ubureru. What if the Treasure’s been  _ wanting _ to get found this whole time? Like- How did the story spread in the first place?”

Mingi adds himself to the conversation, “It’s a collection of common tropes. Anyone could have originated it, really, but every culture that’s heard it has tweaked it a bit. Changed details to suit their liking and the rhetoric they want to convey to their people. The basis makes for a good tale, obviously. It’s just distinct enough of a framework to build upon that almost anyone can find a version they like. There’s plenty of places to put in little lessons and promote whatever ideologies fit the storytellers. Something like that can easily spread.”

“Then why is the Compass so obscure, then?” San wonders aloud, nibbling at his lower lip. “The tale of the Treasure - at least its basis - is so widespread. Why is its device be so obscure if its origin so accessible? It’s not as if the Treasure is a secret then, right?”

Hongjoong shrugs,“Pretty sure the Treasure isn’t something everyone’s supposed to find. Even if they get to hear about it.”

“In a way, the story’s sort of got a double-function then, right?” Yunho posits. “Like- Everyone hears this crazy story all the time since childhood. So then nobody thinks it’s actually a thing. Only those bold enough  _ actually  _ go looking.”

“And only our captain actually has the Compass,” San adds with a little grin. The smile is contagious, and soon Joong’s lips are stretching into one of his own. 

“Which is why we need to stay on task,” Hongjoong says, watching the flashing beacon on his communicator. His heart dances with anticipation, wondering just what that flashing point has in store for them. They just need to remain focused, that’s all. No distractions. No getting tangled up with the wrong people. No picking fights or sneaking into places they shouldn’t be. Just. Focus.

Hongjoong turns to look over his shoulder and speaks pointedly to Jongho and Wooyoung,“I  _ said _ : we need to stay on task.“ The gaping pair cough awkwardly, nodding and murmuring a few “sure”s and “okay”s. Joong can only partially blame them. It’s a lot to take in. 

Hongjoong doesn’t know much about Jongho, but if he had to guess, the kid hasn’t seen a lot of places like this. His gaze is set high, tracing the twirls of mosaics patterning the buildings and drinking in the rainbow of flowers poking out from the ivy. Wooyoung contrastingly is all about the people. The girls to be precise. Sure, none of them have seen feminine expression in eons but, god, the dancing of his pupils worries the captain. It’s practically manic, the way they skitter around from one to the next. Though his lips are quirked ever so slightly up, Hongjoong can’t even say the guy looks happy. Something brews beneath his eyes almost speaking to a sort of methodical analysis. Does he really take girls that seriously? Or is he just bouncing from one pretty thing to the next, eager to chase the high of constant stimulation?

“Captain,” Yunho pulls Joong from his contemplations, “Can I make a suggestion?”

“Hm? What is it?” Hongjoong raises his brows inquisitively.

“We don’t know what we’re getting into if we blindly follow this thing,” Yunho points to the map on Joong’s comm. “Sure everything seems fine, but this could be dangerous or, like, some nature sanctuary where people aren’t allowed to go.”

“O-Oh,” The canis is right. They probably shouldn’t just waltz into some unknown place on a planet that’s only tolerating them for the fact that they stimulate the economy. “You’re probably right. Do you have a bad feeling about this place or something?”

Yunho’s got a good gut for someone so… Yunho. It’s easy to write the guy off because of his bubbly nature, but Hongjoong trusts Yunho’s intuition more than almost anything. If he says something’s off, something’s off.

Thankfully, the canis just shrugs, “Not exactly. I just thought it might be a good idea to duck into a watering hole. Nobody knows the lay of the land quite like a local bartender. Maybe we can get some intel before walking into somewhere without thinking. I mean, in light of our recent experiences…”

“No, no that’s- that’s brilliant, actually,” God bless Jeong Yunho, Hongjoong thinks. “You never know, these people might know something about the Compass, too.” He turns to the others, “That sound alright? We duck into a bar for intel?” It’s more proprietary than a genuine question. He’s the captain. He doesn’t care what they think. (Not  _ that much _ , anyway.)

“Wh-“ “Uh-huh, good.” “A bar?”

“Cool,” Hongjoong says with a sort of sense of authority. “I guess we should just, uh, keep walking and find one that looks alright.”

“Everything looks good here,” Wooyoung says. This gets him a dirty look from the siren and a roll of the eyes from the youngest. “Wh-What?! I mean we passed that one cafe and it smelled really good, I-“ He groans and throws his hands up. “I can’t get a break with you people.”

Hongjoong laughs, “We love you, Wooyoung.”

“Not as much as you love everyone else, apparently,” San adds with a chuckle. Jesus christ. Are these two going to be a problem? No, Hongjoong tells himself. He won’t allow it. Not when they’re so damn close to- to… To  _ something _ . He doesn’t know yet. But it’s bound to be awesome. And not deadly. Probably. Hopefully?

“Okay, well,” Yunho coughs loudly, “I’m picking up a pretty yummy scent a ways down,“ he points in front of them.

“Sounds good to me,” The captain shrugs. “As long as there’s a decent amount of people who know where things are, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” “Whatever.” “A drink sounds good.” “No- Seriously, I meant that this place is pretty-“ “That robot said something about wine…” “Doubt it can compare to Venusian wine.” “Wow- Okay, bigdick Mingi here with his fancy Venusian wine-” “What kind of food do you think they make?” “-the architecture is super diverse-” “I hope there’s fried chicken…”

The group devolves into idle chatter as they approach Yunho’s bar of choice. While Hongjoong keeps half of his mind on his crew, he keeps the other on his surroundings. 

Save for what appear to be public trolleys hovering lazily through the streets, the entire place is one traversed on foot. That means that, worst case scenario, any sort of escape they make will be about a three kilometer run. Yikes. The trolleys strolling lazily down their magnetic tracks probably don’t go faster than footspeed. There aren’t too many law enforcement officers anywhere. Nor are there a lot of bots, Hongjoong notices. 

As a matter of fact, their use of technology is far from conspicuous. It’s there for the common things: transportation, personal use. They probably have the same streamlined tech for their shops and infrastructure. However, unlike most colonies and planets Joong has been to, there are no giant screens floating around. Advertisements aren’t blaring from massive, floating billboards. No officers of the law patrol the streets wielding laser shooters, and there’s not a cybernetic augment in sight.

Hongjoong continues studying their surroundings until ten minutes later, the six of them find their apparent perch. A sign hangs off of a post; in curly red script, it reads: “The Cheshire Cat”. Quite a moniker, Hongjoong muses as he follows the canis in. His first impression is the smell. It smells like food - savory, aromatic and spicy. It’s pleasant until he acknowledges the strange itch at the back of his head.

That’s when it finally hits him.

The otherness.

For the first time since walking in, Hongjoong feels it. He gets that chill making the hairs on his nape stand up. The twinge of discomfort from knowing that people are looking at him - and not because of something good. It’s subtle, Joong will give the natives that. It’s all sidewards glances from impeccably lined eyes and little whispers from glossy lips. Still, it’s there: the uncomfortable reminder that they don’t belong as all eyes train on the group of guys walking in. 

The awkwardness only lasts a second. Just as quickly as it’d stricken him, it disperses, relaxing for the most part. While a remnant of that discomfort remains, the onlookers return to their own devices quickly. They’re likely used to this by now. Hell, they’re not even the only visitors there. A few other cliques of tourists cluster in corners. Others confidently converse with locals. Good for them. The natives seem genial at least.

Hongjoong ignores the whispers he  _ swears _ he hears as they enter the space. It’s cozy and simple with a sort of brassy, industrial look to it. Everything is wrought, rough and heavy, juxtaposed by the tiniest touches - fresh flowers in vases and luxurious textiles draping down the walls. 

“Welcome in,” A striking bartender greets them from behind the dark slab of metal. She’s got a shock of silver-blond hair and dark gray eyes. The handsome girl in black reminds Joong of someone, but he can’t place who. Hardly matters, anyway.

“What can I get started for you?” She asks. Her eyes briefly dart to the stamp on his hand.

It just now occurs to Joong that they need to spend money to be here, and he has no idea what the pricing is like. Sure, he left with a few credits, but fuck. He hopes he doesn’t actually break the bank on drinks alone.

Biting his lip worriedly, Hongjoong mutters,“Uhm, let’s see…” 

* * *

It’s so quiet without the others around. There’s nothing but the low hum of machinery to keep Yeosang company at his workstation. A few sounds trickle up the loading ramp from outside. He opted to leave it down for fresh air. It’s sort of reassuring, giving him the illusion of being among people. 

Isolation is something Yeosang knows all too well, mostly due to self imposition. However, this time he’d opted to be alone not out of fear of others but out of fear for himself. It’s been over a week, and he still hasn’t found anything. Feeling defeated, Yeosang’s changed his approach a bit. Instead of focusing on himself, he’s started to focus on the one who took him apart: Kevin.

And so he continues day two of analyzing the hybrid via memory recall. He’s been meticulously going through backed up memories ever since. Given the state he’d been in mentally, his backups prove invaluable now. It’s not as if Kevin explicitly stated what he’d done, but taking cues from his behavior ought to give hints and ultimately lead to the issue - or so Yeosang hypothesizes. 

He glances at the clock on the big screen of his setup. Nearly fourteen-hundred hours already. Damn, where does the time go? Yeosang sighs, pressing down the space bar on his keyboard. He tears his eyes off of the loading ramp, directing them back to the screen.

“-like this jacket,” Kevin’s echoey voice plays through the PC. Of course the viewport only shows what Yeosang saw which was nothing but the ceiling at the time. “This is a lot of buttons, though. Like, a lot. Kinda  _ suspicious _ , really. What does one do with so many buttons? Like- You ever just unbutton one or two of these for fun? Air out the guns-”

Okay.

  
So maybe this isn’t useful, anyway. 

Yeosang sighs. Part of him regrets not stepping out into Amagee, but he feels like six of them is more than enough to garner attention in the place. He still has some debugging to do on the communicators, anyway. Still, it feels strange for the ship to be so quiet. He’d already gotten used to the noise and commotion of ATEEZ’s crew. It seems like between all of them, someone is always up, no matter what the hour. There’s always chatter or low laughter or footsteps bouncing across the echoey metal craft. Now, all he hears is the rustle of leaves coming in through the lowered ramp.

The desire for company itches at his nape. The cyborg glances at his spread of work; there’s about six screens projected, all of different tissue scans or fluid analysis. He heaves a sigh. Pouting his lips, Yeo leans heavily against his work table, drumming his fingers idly on the cool metal surface. He wishes he could just talk to someone.

Then, he realizes: he can.

Yeosang withdraws the amorphous metallized glass from his pocket and throws it on the desk. He taps it, bringing the simplistic interface to life. 

“Hm…” He navigates the menus idly, assuring everything appears to be in order. Thankfully it is. He’s at least got the minimum viable product which is a decent start. A laundry list of to-do’s begins scratching itself into the back of his brain, but he smothers the thoughts, telling himself it’s for another time. On the bottom, text prompts him: “6 IN RANGE”. He smiles. At least that’s working.

Yeo gets into the messenger and taps out a simple message to his captain:

** _yeosang_ ** : testing, testing 1 2 3 :)

He sits back and waits for a notification for the return message. One, two… Thirty seconds pass, and still nothing. He bounces his leg, staring at the screen, and another thirty pass. At two minutes, Yeo starts to feel the familiar tug of failure dragging his heart down toward the floor. What if the messaging doesn’t work, after all? What if on-planet networks are jamming the signal? What if the product is a massive failure and all of his friends will resent him for unloading useless junk on

_ “Ding.” _ The soft notification tone forcefully yanks Yeo out of his dismayed stupor.

He paws for the device, practically sending it flying across the room in doing so. The cyborg heaves a sigh of relief upon seeing Hongjoong’s message display as anticipated.

** _captain_ ** : received, it’s working so well

** _captain_ ** : i like the library of faces you added too ヾ(＾∇＾)

Yeo can feel blush creep up his neck at the kind remarks. He bashfully taps out a response.

** _yeosang_ ** : im really relieved ＼（Ｔ∇Ｔ）／

** _yeosang_ ** : is the tracker working?

** _captain_ ** : it is

** _captain_ ** : we’re doing some recon right now but the beacon is perfect

** _yeosang_ ** : well i don’t want to disturb you

** _yeosang_ ** : gonna test some other features, over and out (〃∀〃)ゞ

** _captain_ ** : ‘over and out’ lol so cute

** _captain_ ** : we’ll keep in touch (＾＾)ｂ

Yeosang is glad to stop the conversation there. He’s pretty sure he’s gone over his daily compliment reception quota. Any more nice things said to him and he’s liable to explode. He taps around the interface, double checking that everything is functioning as intended. The temptation to pester another member of the crew is great as he scrolls down the short list of contacts. He opts not to, though. The last thing he wants is to be a bother. They’re probably busy scouting out the Compass’s location, comparing notes and doing recon.

“I should’ve just gone,” He grumbles to himself, flustered. Just weeks ago, the thought of craving company would’ve been preposterous to him. He bangs his head on the desk a few times, the soft thud echoing across the loading bay. With a pout, he rests his cheek on the cool surface of his work bench and heaves a heavy sigh.

His eyes drift over to the door across the space. Nondescript and solid, it stands there, an inconspicuous barrier between him and the only other person on the ship. Impulse spikes in his chest. An invasive desire, a curiosity. 

What harm could it possibly do, to seek out the other’s company? Even if only for a brief spell of time. There’s no way that anyone would know, and perhaps now the Petty Officer would be inclined to shed light on his situation.

Yeosang wonders.

* * *

“Wait, that address?” The bartender - a woman Joong had come to know as Yeeun - raises her brows incredulously at the map displayed on Joong’s communicator. 

“That’s the one,” Hongjoong says. He watches her carefully for a reaction.

“That’s the diplomat’s estate- um, Ambassador Soojin,” Yeeun says. She does a conspicuous body check of the captain and his crew. Hongjoong isn’t sure if he should be relieved that she's at least being upfront about her judgment or feel offended that she is so obviously assessing them. ATEEZ does their best with what clothing they’ve managed to scrounge up between one another (which isn’t much at all). 

Hongjoong is the only one really engaged with her. Yunho and Mingi are a few seats down, a few Tierrohada locals orbiting them. It’s completely unsurprising that Yunho would capture their attention. He’s friendly, handsome, and has a cute tail - something that seems to have a universal appeal (if it’s not getting him sketchy sideeyes). Jongho is zoning out, sipping on a soda with his eyes trained in the general direction of a screen playing some news reel. Then there’s San. Hongjoong would normally have no problem sitting next to the siren - he’s funny, cute, and interesting. At least, he normally is when he’s not giving off a palpable aura of sheer anger. Joong wishes he needed to guess or think about the cause of the siren’s distress, but he doesn’t.

The Cheschire Cat is - like most shops in the city - situated on the ground floor of a multi-story building. In his initial smalltalk with the bartender, Joong learned that the majority of the upper levels are residential, chock full of spacially economic studios or single-level family homes. Wooyoung lasted about ten minutes in the bar before getting beckoned up the stairs by a petite girl who honestly looked  _ way  _ out of his league. San saw, and he’s been moody(er) ever since. Hongjoong tries to ignore the furious steam coming off of the other and continues his conversation with Yeeun.

Yeeun tilts her head curiously, “What business do you have with the Ambassador?”

Ambassador? Hongjoong rushes to think of something quick. It’s clear from the way she’s got her arms crossed and an eyebrow quirked that she’s doubtful.

“I’m here with him,” Hongjoong nods over to Mingi. “He’s a Venusian diplomat. Here to talk diplomacy with the Ambassador.” A diplomat here to talk diplomacy.  _ Smooth _ .

Yeeun’s brows raise, and she glances over at Mingi again, nodding, “I thought he looked… Shiny. That’s cool. So what are you guys, like, his entourage?” She quickly seesaws from dubious to interested, needling him with a coy grin.

“Yeah we’re his, um, his crew,” Hongjoong says. It’s not a lie. If she happens to fill in the blanks and assume “crew” means something it doesn’t, that’s on her.

“Cool,” Yeeun replies with a grin. A call from the other side of the bar pulls her attention, and she glides over to serve the customers in need.

Joong’s shoulders sag with relief, and he checks on his crew again. Mingi and Yunho are still the center of attention. Jongho is still disassociating and San is still fuming. Wooyoung is nowhere to be seen. Sighing, Hongjoong hops off of his bar stool to collect his crew. At least, the ones that are present.

With a gesture, he motions for the other members of ATEEZ to join him at a booth in the far corner - somewhere a bit more isolated where they can talk strategy. Eventually they do join him, drinks in tow. San’s eyes flit constantly to the stairs Wooyoung hand gone up as he follows Joong to the booth. It takes Jongho a few seconds to reestablish his presence in the material realm, and Yunho has to politely shake off a few tipsy admirers.

“So,” Hongjoong says in a low voice when they’d all (save for Wooyoung) finally slid into the booth, “It’s an Ambassador’s house.”

“Oh.” “Hm.” “Ambassador?” Those present exchange a few downtrodden looks. 

“That seems kind of… Challenging,” Yunho says, brows knit in thought.

“Yeah, well, I’m open to any ideas,” Hongjoong says. “I imagine this Ambassador Soojin person isn’t gonna be keen on just letting in a group of schmucks like us, though.”

“Right.” “Yeah.”

“I got some news,” Wooyoung’s voice crops up from a few meters away. He approaches the booth, sliding in on the end next to Mingi. Nobody misses the way that San’s sharp gaze bores into the other, but the siren doesn’t say anything.

“What’s that?” Yunho asks, nodding to a folded piece of paper Wooyoung is holding.

“Oh, just a little list. Don’t need it anymore,” Wooyoung tosses the paper onto the table carelessly. “What’s important is the intel I got.”

“Oh?” Hongjoong raises a browi inquisitively. “And that is…?”

“The coordinates on the map point to a diplomat’s house - Ambassador Soojin.”

“Right,” The captain nods. “We knew that, I mean- I knew that, at least. The bartender told me that.”

“Yeah, but, I also came to know that Ambassador Soojin is having a party,” Wooyoung grins triumphantly.

“Face torture,” Mingi mutters.

“I’m sorry- What?!” Hongjoong coughs, nearly choking on the beer he’d been nursing for the sake of his finances.

Mingi squints at the sheet of paper he’d swiped off the table, reading more, “Sexy nurse. Sexy teacher. Sexy babysitter. Sexy… Sexy nun-” His eyes widen at that one. “-sexy- no, wait, that’s _slutty_ suffragette-”

“That’s enough, Mingi,” The captain cuts the Venusian off clippedly. He glares at Wooyoung.

“What?” Wooyoung asks, glancing around at the table full of now rather accusatory faces. “_What_?”

“What is a ‘sexy sufragette’?” Yunho asks, stumbling over the syllables of the unfamiliar word suffragette.

“No,” Jongho cuts in dryly, “It was slutty, Yunho.”

“Oh, thank you,” The canis replies before turning to Wooyoung, “What's a slutty suffragette?”

“Wh- Why are you all looking at me like that?!” Wooyoung gasps.

  
“_Why_ do you have a list of fetishes?!” Hongjoong fires back. They came to Amagee with a mission in mind, not to fuck around. He doesn’t give a shit about Wooyoung’s private matters. Hell, he can relate to the other's thirst, having nearly wet himself over some vague dude in a dream. Still, at the very least it would have been courteous of the other to wait until after things are sorted to have his fun.

“It was a business transaction!” Wooyoung throws his hands up. He gestures to the list, “Information for information.”

“Mhm,” San’s first entry into the conversation is a mere grunt of disbelief. Figures.

Wooyoung elaborates, “Look-” He lowers his voice, “They have pretty restrictive regulations regarding ‘adult entertainment’ here. Lots of stuff just isn’t allowed- guess they’re pretty strict. Of course there is _obviously_ a demand regardless.” He sits back and shrugs, “All I did was link up Miss Sorn with a contact of mine in KQ who deals in entertainment. In exchange, she gave me all the details regarding Ambassador Soojin’s little soiree.” He fishes out another piece of paper with scribbled notes. There’s a proper street address, along with the date, time, and dress code.

“Oh,” Hongjoong leans forward, scanning Wooyoung’s note briefly. His irritation immediately simmers down, and he feels a twinge of guilt for assuming the worst of his first mate. “Wow, um, sorry. Good work.”

“Thank you,” Wooyoung says, letting out a puff of air.

“This is good,” Hongjoong says. “Maybe- maybe we can work with this.”

“Work with it how?” Jongho posits doubtfully, “Are we gonna smuggle ourselves into some party we weren’t invited to just in hopes of finding something?”

Joong worries at his lower lip. The youngest has a point. They’ve been skirting around in the shadows, getting by off the skin of their teeth. It’s risky and exhausting - both mentally and physically. How much longer can they bank on quick thinking and dumb luck to get them by? Who knows where they could end up if they’re caught. Tierrohada is, if nothing else, regimented in its handling of visitors. Upon crossing the border inspection into the city, they made a promise: abide by the rules or face the consequences. They need to be careful.

Mingi chimes in timidly, “Um, I think I might actually be able to help.”

“What’s your idea?” Joong asks - he’s open to anything at this point.

“Wait-” Yunho suddenly interjects. “-Sector twenty-one, isn’t that where we got pulled in by the Stray Boyz?”

“What?!” The captain huffs confusedly. Yunho points to a nearby broadcast screen floating above the booth. The table’s chatter dies down for a moment as everyone trains their attention to the news program.

The primly presented newscaster delivers the announcements in a dire, sharp tone, “-that is when tragedy struck. Due to the electromagnetic properties of the incoming meteor, communications were jammed, causing a massive collision and damages to the entire training fleet.”

“What is she talking about?” Wooyoung asks, nose scrunched with puzzlement. “If there was a massive, signal-jamming meteor in the sector, we would’ve known.”

The caster continues, “-one hundred and seven casualties in total as well as twenty-two missing in action. The sector twenty-one Coalition base is holding a candlelight vigil to pay tribute to the fallen soldiers...”

“That’s so crazy,” Yunho says, “Who’d have thought that some major accident like that would happen in the same sector that, like, hundreds of Coalition officers swarmed the gangster warship and- oh it’s not an accident it’s a cover up isn’t it.”

“You’re doing amazing, buddy,” Jongho quips with a little grin. The smile quickly falters, though, and he grimaces, “Why would they cover something like that up, though? Why not just say it was an altercation with some massive gang? Wouldn’t that, like, inspire rage among the people or something?”

“Hell no,” Wooyoung answers, eyes still on the screen, lips downturned into a frown. “That would ruin their flawless image.”

“And some dumbass meteor collision wouldn’t?” Jongho asks.

Woo shakes his head, “They’d rather report some freak accident than admit that they got into a power struggle with the gangs. The Coalition’s goal first and foremost is to maintain its appearance of control, of power. They get in an accident and, yeah, it’s stupid. A waste of tax dollars, probably. But it’s just that - a freak accident they can pin on some stupid astronomical phenomenon or a dumbass supervising officer. A gang conflict, though? One where over a hundred turn up dead? That makes them look vulnerible.”

The way Wooyoung talks about the Coalition is almost haunting. His voice is low and dark, completely sapped of any semblence of mirth or even interest. He speaks about the Coalition like their influence is an inevitability as grim and inescapable as that of death or taxes. He used to be a part of that, Hongjoong thinks. He wonders - just what did Jung Wooyoung go through to make him so bitter? So utterly disillusioned? It’s one thing to drop out because it’s hard, because he misses his family or wants to pursue something else. 

But that wasn’t Wooyoung’s reason for leaving, was it? Hongjoong vaguely remembers Woo discussing it. The first mate said one, maybe two sentences regarding the entire thing. Hongjoong never pressed, didn’t think much of it at the time, but now he can’t help but wonder if there was something more to it. Obviously, Wooyoung’s eyes were opened to something - but what? And how?

“Um, about the Ambassador,” Mingi’s voice crops up, snapping Joong out of his thoughtful haze. The Venusian worries nervously at his lower lip and proposes, “Like, um, I said - I think I can get us in.”

“Get us in?” “How?” Wait- Really?”

Mingi nods in response to the crew’s stupefied utterances, “Yeah, I mean- my genetic crest is good no matter what, and, well I _am_ royalty.”

“So, what are you saying?” The captain asks for clarification.

“What I’m saying is that I’ve got a legitimate lineage, proof of said lineage, and a set of formal clothes on the ship.”

“Oh,” Hongjoong’s brows raise with surprise. He’s impressed. It’s not like the idea is far out or anything, but Joong never thought of Mingi as the scheming type. “Oh.”

“It’s about lunch time, anyway,” Yunho adds. “We can save money by eating on the ship- we can come and go, right?”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong nods. “Yeah, okay. I… This can work. We can make this work. So: back to the ship. Lunch. Then… The Ambassador’s place?”

Giddy hope bubbles up in Hongjoong’s chest. He tries to stamp it down, urging his heart not to get ahead of itself. So many things that appeared simple went quickly downhill for them. This could very well be the same. Yet, even knowing this, Hongjoong can’t stop himself from indulging just the tiniest bit in that glimmer of hope, in that excitement, that eagerness for getting even the slightest step closer to his Treasure.

* * *

“Pawn to E-four,” Yeosang declares.

He watches his holographic chess piece slides one, two spaces from its starting position.

“You know,” Petty Officer Park Seonghwa studies the fresh board closely, “For someone with a robot brain, you sure are bad at chess.”

Yeosang rolls his eyes. In truth, he can’t quite tell if the PO is being genuinely ignorant or making a joke. Yeo thought he was dry, but Park Seonghwa is giving him a run for his money. Of course, his desiccated demanor could be a result of sapped energy. The once fiery PO is a mere whisper of the vibrant, antagonistic spirit he’d been before. (At least if the others’ stories are anything to go off of.) Now, the PO appears to be more tired and resigned than anything else. In his relatively mild state, Yeosang has to concede: he doesn’t make the most terrible company Yeo’s had.

“It’s not a robot brain,” Yeosang corrects the other cooly. “I merely enhance certain aspects of my brain’s processes with machinery. It’s hardly noticeable. Also chess was never my game.”

“Hm,” Seonghwa grunts. He strokes his chin in thought for a few seconds before nodding to the holographic board floating just beyond the bars, “Pawn to E-five.”

The black piece moves across the virtual board, stopping right in front of Yeosang’s opening. The two plain pieces stand alone in the center of the board, staring one another down. 

“Did you play a lot of chess growing up?” Yeosang asks cooly, trying to make conversation. He squints at the board and decies, “Knight to F-three.”

“Huh,” The blond grunts. “I played it occasionally with my dad and my brother. They always kicked my ass. Got a bit better in the academy - it was a decent way to pass the time that they actually _allowed_ in the bunks... You’re quite aggressive, you know.”

“Am I?” Yeosang chuckles bemusedly. Nobody in his entire life ever used the word aggressive to describe him. He feels a rush at the unintended compliment. It’s nice. _Aggressive_. It alludes to him being strong and assertive, not soft spoken and timid like he actually is.

“Excessively so - especially considering your apparent skill level,” The PO elaborates. “Knight to C-six.” The black horse piece slides right through its holographic brethren. White versus black stand across one another, a near perfect mirror.

“Is the knight your favorite piece?” Yeosang asks. It’s fitting for PO Park, symbolic of the wealthy, educated, upstanding protectors of nobility from those times millenia ago.

“It has a lot of utility,” Seonghwa replies neutrally. Yeosang sees through the veneer, though. It _is_ his favorite piece, and if the slight flushing of his ears didn’t reveal it, the blond’s heavy utilization of the piece in the past ten games does.

Yeosang has found the other to be a surprisingly defensive player. Perhaps that’s another symptom of the blond’s mental state. He’s been wittled down, his harsh edges dulled by time and trauma. He’s on the back foot, simply committing himself to defending his King against Yeosang’s admittedly foolhardy onslaught. Or maybe he’s always been like that - on the defensive, sitting back so he can think, wait and calculate. The blond isn’t the type to spring traps. He’s methodical, his pace at overtaking the board downright sluggish at times.

In contrast, the cyborg has been deliberately imprudent, throwing material at the other at any given opportunity. He admits, the majority of it is due to his lack of experience. Sure, the old people in the alleys would occasionally set down a shanty card table and play a game or two. BH’s subsector was more of a dominos place, though. The colorful folks seemed to prefer a game where it was entirely within the realm of appropriateness to slam down pieces and flip the table regularly. He had other motives in letting Seonghwa win, too, though.

First of all, it’s given Yeosang a good impression of Seonghwa’s playstyle. All data - even data gathered through losses - is valuable. More importantly: success and intellectual stimulation have thawed the officer’s frigid outer shell slightly. Yeosang has yet to relinquish the hope that the petty officer will be the one to spill just what happened on the warship between him and the captain. This is knowledge that Yeosang wants purely out of concern, of course. Not out of some desire to nose around or anything.

“You know,” Seonghwa breathes out, “It’s your turn.”

“Oh, right,” Yeosang nods. “Knight to C-three. I think I’ve grown partial to the bishop myself. It’s a potent, powerful piece with a lot of different options for attack.”

“Hm,” Seonghwa nods. He regards the board momentarily before announcing his move, “Knight to F-six.”

Yet again, black and white stand opposite one another, essentially a mirror. It’s a common setup, something Yeosang quickly learned. It opens the board up to many possibilities, activating the knights, sending out low value material and beginning to open avenues for the bishops. The cyborg glances at the blond behind bars. Though dark circles decorate the underside of his eyes and his cheekbones jut out distinctly, the expression he wears is one of concentration and not fatigue.  


“Knight to E-five,” Yeosang says. He watches the little black pawn fade as his white knight tramples it, sliding over to take its place.

Seonghwa raises his brows and lets out a puff of air through his nostrils. A muted display of surprise. He shakes his head and speaks.

“A word of advice,” The blond says, cerulean eyes boring into the game projection beyond the bars, “Stop throwing material at me. Knight to E-five.”

Yeosang’s white knight fades, seized by Seonghwa’s black piece.

“How do you know I don’t have a plan?” The cyborg asks, a slight grin curling at the edges of his lips.

“Well, for one, I’ve watched you play for the past… Has it been ten or twelve games now?” The blond lets out a noise that could almost be a chuckle.

“Fair enough,” Yeo concedes. “Pawn to D-four.” The plain white piece slides forward.

Seonghwa’s brows knit together, and he purses his lips. Yeosang noticed that the blond has a funny habit of sticking his tongue out just a tiny bit. It’s brief instances like that - when the blond is staring fervently at a chess board, tongue peeping out from between his lips - that make Yeosang wonder how one could ever find the man intimidating. The cyborg ponders: did Seonghwa manage to endear himself to the captain? Is that why he’s still alive? Yeo entertains the line of thought but quickly does away with it. It just doesn’t seem likely. The captain has been actively avoiding the petty officer. If PO Park had mysteriously managed to worm his way into the captain’s heart, surely Hongjoong would make more of an attempt to check on the man’s state of being. Instead, Hongjoong enthusiastically shoves the duty of meal delivery onto Yeosang (or anyone else who’ll take it, really).

The blond nods, making his move, “Knight to C-six.”

“Pawn to D-five,” Yeosang doesn’t miss a beat with his next movement. Seonghwa blinks confusedly, obviously shocked by the sudden, incredibly aggressive move.

Good.

Things are going according to plan.

Seonghwa narrows his eyes and scrutinizes the pieces, “You really like to throw your pieces into the fray, don’t you?”

“Isn’t that how you win the game?” Yeosang asks rhetorically. “You have to move them at some point.”

“You realize there needs to be thought put into it first, right?” Hwa shakes his head. “Chess really isn’t your game. Knight to E-five.” The tiny black horse’s head yet again drifts over to its newly designated spot.

“Maybe not,” Yeo shrugs. “I’m surprised you’re not _more_ aggressive.” He pretends to think about where he’s putting his next piece, like he doesn’t already know. Like he hasn’t been running projections and scenarios in his head since after game number two.

“I don’t like needless waste. The less pieces fallen, the better.”

Yeosang so terribly wants to mention the irony of his words given that he’s an officer of the Coalition. Few institutions in the galaxy waste more than the Galactic Coalition. They lay waste to planets, waste lives, produce biohazardous waste - the list goes on. While the cyborg itches to put the blond in his place, he decides against it. Doing so would do nothing but fray their very delicate acquaintenceship. It would sour the good rapport he’s built up and probably close the door on any possibility of finding out what truly happened. (Something he wants to know purely for his captain’s sake, out of concern, not to indulge his insatiable curiosity or anything.)

“I like to think of my pieces as resources,” Yeosang replies with a shrug. “Pawn to F-four.”

Seonghwa frowns upon seeing his precious knight compromised yet again, “Resources are limited, you know. Knight to G-six.”

“I know,” Yeosang says, watching his knight shift back and over. Run, knight, run, he giggles to himself. “But resources have to be used in order to attain any meaningful gain or progress, right? Pawn to E-five.” The nondescript white piece slides forward, once again aggressing on the black knight just diagonal of it.

“Someone thoughtful enough can make them stretch, though,” Seonghwa counters. He falls silent, tongue once again flicking out for a second as he considers the lay of the pieces.

“That’s true. It’s all about the strategy, right? Being stringent with some and more lavish with others.”

“Right… Knight to G-eight,” Seonghwa mutters. His jaw is set into something tight, tense, and his brows are furrowed. He’s slipping.

So soon? Yeosang muses. He’d expected Seonghwa to stick it out longer. Yeo supposes he can cut the PO some slack - he’s not in his best form by any means, and he’s probably rusty on the game. Still, with how damn stubborn the platinum blond can be, Yeosang didn’t think he’d crumble so quickly.

Of course, the game is far from over. Yeosang continues with his attack.

“Pawn to D-six,” Yeosang says coolly. 

Seonghwa lets out a relieved sigh and calls back, “Pawn to D-six.”

“Pawn to D-six,” Yeosang responds so quickly that the virtual board lags slightly behind the orders. The second white pawn clips awkwardly through Seonghwa’s black pawn before it properly fades, giving way to Yeosang’s victorious piece.

Seonghwa sits back and strokes his chin. He still has ample resources at his disposal; it’s just a matter of using them “thoughtfully” as he said. Yeosang watches the other carefully. What’s he going to do? His rook is in a position to attack. He could take out the far too advanced pawn, dislodging that thorn in his side. However in doing so he would also open it up to attack, making his King more vulnerible. He’s also got a Knight that could remove one of the further back pawns from play. It’s a low value piece, though, and a maneuver that would ultimately just make that knight vulnerible in the long run. If there’s one thing Yeosang has learned, it’s that Seonghwa does not like making his knights vulnerible.

“Queen to F-six,” Seonghwa announces when he’s finally come to a decision.

So he moves the Queen. Yeosang’s face twitches, almost betraying his amusement with a grin. It’s a sound move. A logical maneuver addressing attackers on two squares with ease.

“Yeosang, how do you feel about wagers?” The blond asks out of nowhere.

“I only take bets I know I can win,” Yeosang admits. He’s not partial to games of chance (at least, not the ones he can’t cheat at or hack). He prefers knowing his outcomes and making decisions based off of that. Taking big risks - like, say, hopping aboard a ship with a bunch of fugitives because of a broken down, mysterious piece of techonology - is not a characteristic of Yeosang. He doesn’t normally do stuff like that.

The blond lets out a chuckle at that, “Fair enough. And here I was about to ask you to bet against me.”

“Bet against you?” Yeosang’s lips upturn in amusement.

“Yes,” Seonghwa says, pupils flitting across the board. “If I win, you let me out. If you win, I’ll… I don’t know. Polish your boots.” He lets out another wry laugh. The sight makes a pang of pity strike Yeosang’s chest.

The cyborg answers softly, “You know I can’t do that.”

“But why not?” Seonghwa asks, his nostrils flaring. “Yeosang, you’re not like them. You’re different. You’re  _ kind _ \- I know you are.”

Yeosang presses his lips together and steels himself. The cyborg knows damn well he’s softhearted. It’s just a part of him - his need to help, to nurture, to please. He struggles to say no even to strangers, and now he has to face the pleas of an imprisoned man who he only knows as a villain through proxy.

“I’m acting under orders,” Yeosang replies.

“Under the orders of who?!” Seonghwa huffs, “Your self-proclaimed captain?! What- Why- why do you even listen to him? I guarantee you are smarter than the entire rest of this crew combined.”

“That may be so, but he is still my superior. Did you always agree with your superiors when you performed your duties in the Coalition?”

Seonghwa presses his lips together, and his fervor diminishes. Perhaps if he’d been speaking to someone else, he’d have given them more of a tongue lashing. With Yeosang, though, he wills himself to settle down.

“I understand,” The blond responds bitterly, gaze set on the ground.

He looks so downtrodden, so hopeless, that Yeosang feels the need to throw him a bone or something. Some words, some morsel of hope or kindness, to keep him from the pits of despair.

“I can tell you where we are,” Yeosang speaks in a low whisper, making the information sound like some forbidden secret.

“Where we are?” It takes the blond a few seconds to comprehend what Yeo means. “Oh- Right. The ship has landed, hasn’t it.”

“Yeah. It’s a place called Tierrohada on the planet Amagee,” Yeosang says. “It’s very pretty. Lots of green. More green than I’m used to, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, wow, Amagee,” Seonghwa gasps. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful. Wait- why are you still on board then?”

Yeo shrugs, “I had other things to do. Personal projects.”

“Oh.”

“Whose move was it again?” Yeosang asks, looking down at the board.

“It’s your move,” Seonghwa says.

“Okay,” Yeosang nods, checking his pieces before declaring, “Knight to B-five.”

Hwa squints at the movement, quickly transitioning back into chess mode. 

That one’s resilient, Yeo muses. Quick to let bygones be bygones, constantly looking to evolve, adapt, and move forward. That’s probably what’s gotten him so far. That’s probably part of the reason he’s alive now and why he’s still got the slightest flicker of fight left in him. Yeo hopes that whenever Park Seonghwa is released, he goes in peace. It’s fairly unrealistic - certainly more fantastical a thought than Yeosang usually allows himself to entertain. He holds onto it regardless. Not necessarily out of allegiance to the other - though he has come to somewhat appreciate the company. No, it’s his sense of self-preservation that prays for the most benign parting possible. Because an angry, reinvigorated Park Seonghwa with all the resources of the Coalition at his disposal is not an enemy Yeosang wants to make.

“Rook to B-eight,” Seonghwa counters to compromise Yeosang’s knight. Smart. His head is in the game.

“Bishop to E-three,” Yeosang responds. He smiles at the little white cap as it floats over to its designated space.

“Pawn to B-six,” The blond says. He worries at his lower lip for a second before asking shyly, “Am I allowed to ask what your business on Amagee is?” He’s prying for information, probably with intention of making use of it if he can. He can’t, though. The prisoner has little to gain from knowing what he essentially already knows - that they’re following the Compass.

Yeosang, unopposed to lightening the mood with more smalltalk, indulges the other, “Same as usual. The Compass spit out coordinates- along with a captain’s log, actually.”

Seonghwa squints at Yeo dubiously for a moment. It’s clear he’s skeptical, but the cognitive dissonance is written on his face. Yeosang wonders: will Seonghwa trust the closest thing he has to an ally aboard ATEEZ? Or will he hold onto his adamant insistence that the entire Compass story is phony?

“The Compass led you to Amagee?” He asks, brows raised incredulously. “And why ever would it do that?”

“We’re still figuring it out,” Yeo shrugs, telling the honest truth. He’s got little incentive to lie, after all. “Queen to E-two, by the way.” The prettily rendered crown slides gracefully into place, shielding his King.

Seonghwa grimaces, quickly calling out, “King to D-eight.”

“King to C-one,” Yeosang says, castling his King in the crook of his rook and a line of pawns. 

“You don’t know what you’re going to find?” Seonghwa asks.

“No idea,” Yeosang says, “But neither did Captain Maddox, I suppose. They say he was guided by intuition.”

“Maddox? Don’t you mean Captain Mads?”

“Mads. Dex. Seems like the name got spliced a bit in translation.”

The blond balks, “Seems rather unlikely.”

Yeosang smirks. He shuts his eyes and searches his memory recall for when he’d witnessed the Captain’s Log. It’d been such an intense, strange experience. His entire body became a vessel through which the Compass spoke to them. Because of that, the entire projection is stored in his memory, pure and unmarred by an awkward personal vantage point.

When Yeosang opens his eyes again, light shoots out, projecting the Captain’s log again:

“Captain’s Log day… Well, let’s just say it’s day one, for the sake of ease. Or should I…” He clears his throat. “Captain Maddox’s log, day one.”

Yeo hears a gasp. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Seonghwa’s jaw drop and his eyes blowing wide open. 

Maddox continues, satisfied, “Yeah. We’ll do that. Ahem- Captain Maddox’s logbook, day one…”

Yeo blinks to shut off the projection.

“Wh- That’s it?” Seonghwa gasps.

The cyborg nearly laughs at the other’s sudden eagerness. He reigns it in and manages to deliver nothing more than a smirk.

“How about… I show you more if you win,” Yeo presents the “wager”.

Seonghwa nods earnestly, once again scooting up to the bars and throwing on his most focused face, “Deal… Queen to E-six.” He watches his Queen slide over with rapt attention.

“Pawn to F-five,” Yeosang responds.

The blond’s lips twitch at the edges as he replies, “Queen to F-five.” The beautifully ornamneted queen’s piece consumes the pawn as it slides into its spot with grace. He seems to be plotting his endgame, which Yeosang finds adorable. Pity, Yeo thinks, he’ll never see the end of that captain’s log.

“Queen to C-four,” Yeo says. His queen drifts into the C column menacingly, bearing down on the black bishop. Yeosang wonders if Seonghwa’s caught on yet. Sometimes, the best defense is a good offense - so they say.

“Queen to E-five,” Seonghwa folds his hands in his laps and leans close, watching his Queen move into place intently.

“Queen to C-seven,” Yeosang proclaims, trying not to sound too smug. Watching Seonghwa for a reaction, he adds: “Check.”

The blond tenses, cogs so very clearly churning in his head. He’s still got plenty of material to play with, but it’s a matter of doing so thoughtfully. Flawlessly, really. He’s been backed into a corner, too conservative and overconfident to have seen the assault’s fruition coming.

“King to E-eight,” Seonghwa makes the order as he must. He has to protect his King at all costs.

“Bishop to D-four,” Yeosang announces the move composedly. He doesn’t like to be a sore winner, after all. Technically it’s not won yet. He’s merely moved his bishop to attack the queen. There are still openings for the blond to take it back. However, based on Seonghwa’s play patterns and general prowess for the game, Yeosang doubts he’ll be able to crawl out of the corner he’s been backed into.

“Queen to F-four,” The blond’s gaze meets Yeosang’s when he announces his own triumphant move. “Check.”

Yeosang allows Seonghwa the grace of a brief second of hope. The cyborg hesitates in moving his King, simply studying the board in silence.

“King to B-one,” Yeo makes the obvious move of protecting his King. It’s once again protected behind the barricade of pawns and rook.

“Rook to A-eight,” The officer moves the tower-like piece to safety. Interesting, Yeosang muses. He must’ve interpreted the movement of the King as an attack on the piece.

Excellent.

“Rook to E-one,” Yeosang meets Seonghwa’s eyes again. It’s interesting, looking into the other’s eyes. They’re both fake in that aspect. Yeosang’s are implants, complete fabrications constructed to substitute for his real eyes. He can change their color at will but often settles on the green hue they are on that day. Seonghwa’s are real - the eyeballs are, anyways. But they’re dyed. A phony too-blue color that just nearly borders cartoonish. If he wasn’t so damn handsome, he’d probably look like a damn comicbook character, but he pulls it off (barely). Fake gazes into fake as Yeosang says, “Check.”

“Bishop to E-seven,” Hwa’s nostrils flare at the proclamation. At the very least, his King is safe for the next turn. At this point, it appears to be finally dawning on the blond how screwed he actually is.

“Pawn to G-three,” Yeosang’s pawn pushes forward, threatening the black Queen.

“Queen to D-two,” Seonghwa’s response is hasty. The Queen’s new position threatens the Rook - Yeosang’s most fortitudinous defense for his King.

“Bishop to G-two,” The cyborg exposes his beloved bishop. If Seonghwa was really stupid, he’d let the damn thing stay in play. But he’s better than that, Yeosang is certain.

“Queen to G-two,” Seonghwa responds. It’s a logical, quick choice. One that assures that bishop doesn’t threaten the King while maintaining a mobile position for the Queen.

It’s not enough, though.

Seonghwa perpetually concerns himself with the high value pieces - keeping them safe and keeping them on the board. However, as a result, he’s gotten use out of too few of them. Yes, he’s gotten a lot of mileage out of few resources - shifting his Knights, threatening with his Queen. But he’s overlooked the threat that the most simple piece of all can pose. How - while it may not be the instrumental crux of a strategy - a lowly pawn can easily be the first domino to drop. Maybe BH taught the cyborg something about chess after all.

“Pawn to E-seven,” Yeosang says. The plain white pawn wipes out the bishop unceremoniously, the black projection of the bishop’s cap fading as the pawn slides into place.

“Knight to E-seven,” The blond answers swiftly which is entirely expected. Of course he’d snuff out the lowly pawn with one of his beloved Knights. It’s by far the most logical move to make and it provides a good layer of protection for his King.

“Knight to D-six,” Yeosang orders. “Check.”

Seonghwa’s nostrils flare again. It’s clear from the expression on his face that he’d completely overlooked the white Knight.

“King to F-eight,” The blond postures the crucial piece defensively, but it’s too late.

“Queen to D-eight,” Yeo reacts calmly. “Checkmate.”

Seonghwa’s mouth falls open, but he doesn’t say anything. He merely sits in silent shock for a minute, trying to digest what had just happened. His face flushes, and he lets out a long breath. 

“Well played,” The officer says, accepting defeat graciously. His shoulders slump with utter deflation, and he schools his face in a visible effort not to appear pouty and upset.

“Perhaps we can play another round?” Yeosang proposes. Being completely honest to himself: it’s fun. He doesn’t mind playing chess with the other one bit.

The blond immediately perks up, nodding, “Okay.”

“Alright,” Yeo nods. “You can be white this t-”

“Yeosang!” A muffled voice calls.

“Hm?” Yeo’s brows raise, and he turns to the sound.

“Yeosang?” The voice filtering in through the metal of the door calls out again.

“Wh- They’re here?” Yeo’s eyes widen with surprise. He didn’t expect them to return so soon. Suddenly, his face flushes, and nervousness balloons in his gut. What would they say if they saw him casually playing chess with their prisoner? Their supposed enemy? A person who very clearly wishes ill will on most (if not all) of them?

“I have to go,” Yeosang tells the other.

Seonghwa nods without a word, his gaze cast downward.

“Another time, though,” Yeosang assures the blond. He’s not sure why he does that. Is it because he enjoys Seonghwa’s company, or is it his compulsory desire to please others? The reason doesn’t really matter, because no doubt the crew is wondering where he is if not at his workstation. He gives the other a small wave before scurrying off.

  
  


* * *

Chatter travels across the galley idly as Hongjoong sits down. Lunch is fairly simple again - rice, eggs, veggies, meat. It’s simple, tasty, and filling which is about all Joong cares about as he digs in. He’s content to sit back and eat while the crew recounts their experiences to Yeosang. Yunho talked about how nice the locals were while Jongho described the pretty architecture. The sarcastic cyborg joked that he’s not sure if he’d be comfortable around “all that organic stuff”, and they briefly touch on the subject of the Ambassador. When the majority of their food has found its way into their stomachs, the crew starts speaking in earnest.

They need a strategy when they get to the Ambassador’s - not just a thrown together plan like what they normally have.

Mingi chuckles, looking up in thought, “My name will be… Jeong Minki.”

A few of the crew snort at the made up moniker while Yunho just goes beet red. Figures.

“Wh-Why Jeong,” Yunho laughs sheepishly.

“Well, it’s kind of like Song, right?” Mingi replies innocently. “Okay, remember, I’m a royal diplomat travelling to promote and advocate for Venusian outreach to a select few planets.”

“I understood some of those words!” Yunho proclaims cheerily. The others just laugh.

“Damn,” Yeosang whistles. “You know some pretty big words, Mingi.”

“Thank you. I take pride in my massive, throbbing vocabulary,” The Venusian smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. The stupid quip once again pulls a laugh out of everyone save for Yunho who damn near chokes on his rice.

“Nothing quite excites a lady like a girthy lexicon,” Jongho adds. The table of apparent twelve year olds snicker loudly in response.

A smile crosses the captain’s face seeing his crew so happy and carefree. It makes the horrors of the Stray Boyz ship feel lightyears away. He sits quietly, letting the others fill the space with noise and laughter, basking in their presence. Happy, glowing warmth radiates from within his chest, wrapping around his body. The more time he spends with them - the more memories like this he makes - the more he sees the other six boys as family. 

Hongjoong’s grin diminishes slightly when he notices that one member of his family isn’t as happy as he is.

San’s posture is tight and tense. There’s no sign of the easy, dimpled smile he typically wears. No twinkle in his eyes, no eager enthusiasm about what new things he’d seen today. Hongjoong wants to say something - but what? As he wracks his brain, the tactical conversation resumes.

“The Ambassador,” Wooyoung tells Mingi, “Is a huge advocate for education. Especially young women and girls. I dunno if you’re going to need to like, gain her favor or anything. But if you do, just mention the children and education. She’ll be super into it.”

“Ah,” Mingi smiles and nods, “Thanks for the tip. How’d you figure that?”

“Just my intel,” Wooyoung replies with a little smile.

A poisonous, humorless laugh sounds out across the galley.

San grips his glass of water with white knuckles, an acidic smile spread across his lips. Something about his entire being gives off a threatening aura of malice. Hongjoong wonders if it’s a siren thing or just a San being intimidating thing. Whatever the root of his unfathomable imposition, it causes the entire kitchen to go quiet. Even Hongjoong, the captain of the ship, holds his tongue with wide eyes.

“Excuse me?” Wooyoung chuckles wryly. Apparently, of all people not to get the memo, he was the unlucky one. The one who imprudently decided to speak to the very siren that likely was plotting his beheading.

“Nothing,” San shrugs - he so clearly meant something by his laugh.

“No, I think you had something to say,” Wooyoung - typically jubilant, sweet, reasonable Wooyoung - responds strainedly.

Oh no.

“I doubt you’d be interested in anything coming out of my mouth,” San replies coolly. “Unless it was, of course, some prurient begging for you to stuff it with your dick.”

Hongjoong didn’t think his eyes could get wider until he heard that. The captain, usually one to reel in his rowdy team, is completely petrified. He’s paralyzed, glued in place with his mouth sewn shut. All he can do is scan the room and pray that someone with more willpower than he can maybe lighten the situation. Unfortunately, nobody else seems up to the task, either. Yeosang has decided that his bowl of rice is the most interesting thing he has ever looked at in his entire goddamn life. Yunho and Mingi are also watching in horror. Yunho’s face is so red, Hongjoong half wonders if the canis has forgotten to breathe. Jongho stubbornly pretends everything is alright, shoveling the remnants of his food into his mouth and probably willing the world to disappear around him.

Wooyoung laughs again, “Okay, San, I think you have something to say, so-” He gestures vaguely, “Why don’t you just say it? We’re all here. We can all be honest with one another. I promise, I won’t be offended.”

Hongjoong resents his first mate for bringing them into it. “We can all be honest with one another”? “We’re all here”? As if anyone else has a choice. He’s terrified that if he leaves San will  _ actually  _ jump the table and strangle Wooyoung.

“You seem fairly offended right now,” The siren responds his tone so damn calm it sends chills down Hongjoong’s spine.

“I guess - for the sake of honesty - I’ll admit, I do feel judged,” Wooyoung responds. His dark eyes bore into the siren’s, and Joong can almost feel the electricity surging between the two.

The siren answers with a question, his words gushing with sarcasm, “And why do you think I would  _ ever  _ judge you?”

“Oh, I think you know the answer to that. Or do you always get extra fired up about reconnaissance?”

“Wow. Such a big word,” San chuckles.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hongjoong sees Mingi actually wrap his arms around Yunho fearfully. Jongho’s given up on his attempt at pretending nothing exists, and Yeosang is also transfixed, tangled in the all consuming yet simultaneously horrific trainwreck happening in slow motion right before them.

The siren shrugs, “I’m simply curious as to how you got that information. Reconnaisance makes it sound so sophisticated.”

“Well,” Wooyoung plasters a saccharine smile on his face, and in that moment, Joong knows that nothing else coming out of that man’s mouth can possibly be good. Woo starts in a sweet tone, “If you must know. The young woman who I solicited was actually a disease infested hooker-”

Someone lets out a pained peeping noise; Joong thinks it’s probably Yeosang, but it might’ve been Yunho.

Wooyoung continues in his casual, almost lilting tone, “So me and the hooker-”

“The  _ hooker and I _ ,” San cuts in, his phony sweetness wrapped in thorns. 

“Oh, right,” Woo laughs. “The hooker _and I_ went upstairs to her place and- well, we _started_ with copious intravenous drug use during which we shared needles - obviously. You know what they say. Sharing is caring. After sticking ourselves so many times we looked like like goddamn voodoo dolls we- well, it was a- a bit of a haze then. I- I can’t say proper consent was established, even, but-” Wooyoung shrugs, “-hell we enjoyed the slurry of  _ sloppy  _ sex during which copious,  _ various  _ bodily fluids were spilled everywhere. Painted the place in come like it was a goddamn splatter art piece.”

At this point, Mingi's got his face buried in Yunho’s shoulder, and Yunho’s face is squashed into an expression of utter disgust. Yeosang hasn’t moved a centimeter. He’s gone completely still like a damn statue or one of those animals that plays dead as a defense mechanism. Poor Jongho just appears scandalized. Perhaps he'll never be the same after this. Hongjoong desperately searches his appalled brain for words, for something -  _ anything  _ \- to diffuse the situation, but then San responds.

“Well I trust you used contraception of some sort,” San’s smile is completely devoid of mirth, and the way he grips his fork terrifies the captain. "The thought of you bringing spawn into this world is immensely upsetting."  


“Of course I’m being safe,” Wooyoung gasps, pretending to be affronted. “I pulled out.”

“Hm,” San giggles. “I imagine your parents did, too. And yet here we are, bearing witness to the tragic end of that story.”

Everyone just sits by, the pathetic captive audience to a sordid drama that for some reason the network can’t get off the air. This is bad. Ugly, acidic, venomous, disgusting _bad_. The resentment broiling between the two is poison, filling the entire space they occupy. Joong feels suffocated. He has to do something, but he’s so fucking shocked. No doubt it’s just a matter of seconds before one of them snaps and they actually go at it. They’ll either fuck or kill one another. Unfortunately, the latter seems more likely, and Hongjoong doesn’t want either to happen on his kitchen table.

“Come on, San. Use your head,” Wooyoung answers. “I’m not an idiot! I don’t wanna knock someone up. That’s why I do _anal_ exclusively-”

“That’s enough!” Hongjoong barks. He’s had it, and his laggy body has finally caught up with his brain.

“No,” San leans over the table, and snarls, “I’m eager to hear what he has to say. Tell me more about your exploits.”

“At least I  _ have  _ exploits,” Wooyoung spits back. He jumps over the table.

“Jongho, Yunho!” Hongjoong calls out quickly. “Grab them!”

The two do as they’re ordered, Yunho jumping onto Wooyoung and Jongho manhandling the siren. 

“Let me go!” San thrashes violently. “Let me go! You know where I’m from we’d have settled this with an honest fight!” He yells strainedly, struggling against Jongho’s grip.

“Fucking figures-!” Wooyoung barks. “I’m surprised you didn’t fucking kill me the second you saw m-”

“Enough!” Hongjoong shouts at the top of his lungs. 

Never in a million years could he have even imagined Wooyoung and San like this. They’re out of control, tensions completely boiled over. It’s the worst case scenario, and his guts gnash uncomfortably with guilt knowing he hadn’t done anything to prevent it. Hongjoong honestly thought the two would move along, get over things or work them out. Obviously, that hadn’t happened - but it needs to. 

“Yunho, Jongho,” The captain says. He nods toward the stairs leading down, “Follow me.”

“Wh- Where are we going?” Yunho asks, scarcely holding Wooyoung back.

“They’re gonna figure their shit out,” Hongjoong says through gritted teeth.

* * *

_ “Shiiiff.” _

Seonghwa gasps when he hears the brig door open. Giddiness flutters in his chest at the prospect of another game with Yeosang. The cyborg is the only meaningful human contact he’s had in forever. He’s kind and intelligent and fairly receptive in spite of all of their differences. Seonghwa isn’t sure if he can consider the other a true friend. After all, Yeosang still refuses to let him out, and it’s clear to Seonghwa that no matter what, the ship’s crew comes before him. Still, it’s nice to speak to someone and feel like a normal human upon occasion. 

The blond approaches his bars timidly, already strategizing his opening for their next chess match. His heart falls into his stomach when he’s greeted with the sight of  _ him _ .

The fucking captain.

The blond chokes on a gasp and steps back slightly. He wonders if some sentence is going to be doled out to him. Is this it? The end? Did Yeosang know this was going to happen? What is “this” anyway? Seonghwa watches carefully, and his guts twist even more when he sees more people walk in. Choi Jongho - the strong boy - carries a struggling siren in. Figures, Hwa thinks, it was only a matter of time before he snapped. The blond’s brows raise with surprise upon the second entrant, though. Clutched in the arms of the canis is the ex-spec-ops guy. Wooyoung? Yes, Wooyoung. That’s it.

“In,” The captain grunts, gesturing into the cell adjacent Seonghwa’s. The strong one throws the siren in, and shockingly, the spec-ops hume is thrown into the same cell. The door slams shut, leaving the two seething in their cell. What happened?

The captain bellows an order at the two, “Here’s what’s gonna happen. We are going to the Ambassador’s house. It’ll probably take a few hours. So make yourselves comfortable.”

Wails of protest immediately follow, “What?!” “But-” “You’re leaving us here?” “No-!”

“Quiet!” The captain cuts them off, and their complaints die down. “I’ve had enough- we have _all_ had enough of your shit. It’d be one thing if this was between you two, but you made your  _bullshit_ everyone's business . So, you two are gonna stay in this cell and sort it out.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widen in terror. Does this mean he has to share the cell block with _them_? He grimaces at the thought of it.

“You’re putting us in  _ jail _ ?” One of them huffs in disbelief. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

“I figure there’s two possible outcomes,” The captain speaks adamantly. “First one: you two actually talk this out and we can all get along and be a happy family again. Or, the second one: you two kill each other. At this point, I don’t give a fuck.”

“What?!” “No-” “You can’t _make_ us talk to each other.” “This is cruel and unusual punishment.” “Fuck-”

The captain rolls his eyes, gesturing for his assisting crew to exit. The canis and strong boy head toward the door, but he stays. Seonghwa hadn’t been aware of where he was at, and it isn’t until the captain looks him straight in the eye that he realizes he’s practically sticking out of the bars, peeping like some kind of voyeur.

“The fuck are you looking at?” The captain growls.

Seonghwa bristles, firing back, “What the fuck are  _ you  _ doing? Throwing your own crew in the brig now?”

“How I run my ship is none of your concern.”

“It is when I have to share the cell block with two manic psychopaths.”

“Oh, I’m _ so sorry _ you have to share your luxurious accomodations.”

“This isn’t fair,” Seonghwa seethes through gritted teeth.

“Aw. So sad,” Hongjoong fake pouts and strides over to Seonghwa’s cell. (Out of reach, unfortunately. Hwa would give anything to wring the captain’s neck in that moment.)

“We  _ had  _ a deal,” Hwa murmurs in a low voice so only the captain can hear.

“You broke your promise,” The captain leans in and whispers. “So, no. No deal.”

Seonghwa takes a deep, shaky breath. He tosses aside his dignity and mutters so quietly it’s practically inaudible.

“Hongjoong,” Shame washes over Seonghwa in a heated wave. Even so, he powers through, trying to find the other’s gaze. “Hongjoong,  _ please _ . Just let me go. You can’t just keep me here like an animal. I know you don’t like having me here either.  _ Please  _ just- don’t leave me here with- with them. Let me _go_.”

Hongjoong opens his mouth to respond, but his focus shifts. Seonghwa follows the captain’s dark eyes to find that the two yelling maniacs have quieted down and are watching them with curiosity.

The captain hesitates before responding to Seonghwa. It’s clear to the petty officer that the man’s putting on airs. All authenticity is lost as he throws on a surly, captainly persona.

“Listen,” Hongjoong says coolly - loudly, too, so the others can hear, probably. “The faster these two get their shit together, the faster you can get your cell block all to yourself again.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Seonghwa’s attempt at appearing doeish and desperate completely dissipates. Now he’s just confused.

“Don’t they teach you, like, conflict mediation in the academy or something?” The captain asks.

“Wh- Well, yes, of course. I actually got excellent comments on my-”

“Good!” The captain flashes a wide, cheschire grin and claps. “Then _conflict mediate_.”

“Wh- Excuse me?!” Seonghwa gapes. It’s too late, though. Captain Kim Hongjoong is done speaking, apparently, and he’s already sashaying away toward the door. Fury bubbles up in Seonghwa’s gut, and he yells angrily at the other’s back, “I- I  _ highly  _ oppose this, just so you know!”

The captain merely gestures to his ear and shrugs as if he can’t hear Seonghwa holler down the very _echoey_ _metal_ hall.

“Come back here and solve your crew’s problems yourself- Hey!  _ Hey  _ don’t you leave-!”

_ “Shiff.” _ The door shuts behind the tiny bastard.

“Hey!” Seonghwa slams his fist against the bar furiously, vexation stewing inside his guts. He throws himself into his bed and seethes. Rage completely consumes him in the forthcoming minutes, emptying it of any rational thought or contemplation.

His one consolation is that the others have fallen quiet. Seonghwa considers smothering himself in his pillow but decides against it. He figures that the siren will likely kill the human, and he’d hate to miss out on the entertainment.

For now, though, everything is quiet, and that he’ll take.


	2. Chapter 2

Hongjoong shifts his weight from one foot to the next anxiously. Next to him, Mingi finnicks with the hem of his princely Venusian number. The motley crew makes an interesting entourage, that’s no doubt. While all of them try to look their best, they vary from regal to radical. Jongho looks prim and proper enough in his uniform. It’s the one artifact of his previous life that he’s got left, it seems. A previous life that he’s yet to talk about (not that it’s the captain’s business). Yunho also appears surprisingly dapper - deceptively so, really - in his Venusian getup. Hongjoong feels a bit ridiculous next to them in dark colors with all his piercings. He prays that Mingi will appear legitimate enough to compensate for everyone else’s lack of decorum.

  
The captain worries at his lower lip thinking about everything that’s happened and everything that will happen. Yeosang stayed back on the ship to assure Wooyoung and San don’t kill one another. Joong has faith in the cyborg’s good sense and logic. What he doesn’t have faith in Wooyoung and San’s communication skills. For the entire trek to the Ambassador’s mansion, Hongjoong agonized over the two in the cell. He hopes he made the right decision. As much as he’d love to force the two to work things out, he knows that ultimately, it’s not up to him.

He, Jongho, Mingi and Yunho discussed their gameplan on the way which proved a decent half-distraction. Every one of them ironed out a vague but convincing backstory befitting the enterouge of a Venusain diplomat. Mingi is to be dubbed Jeong Minki, a university graduate whose passion is education and cultural exchange. His assistant, Jung Yunho, is to be by his sides at all times as is bodyguard, Cho Jongwoo. Hongjoong - temporarily Joohong - is his stylist who accompanied him to spot the fashions of Amagee. They intend on touring the planet and doing something with… Eduation. Outreach. Synergy. Collaberation - there are a lot of long, buzzy words that were thrown around. In truth, the captain doesn’t really give a shit. The plan is fairly simple: Mingi dazzles the aristocrats while Hongjoong sneaks off to “use the restroom”. Joong, geolocating comm in hand, will hunt down the beacon blinking on the screen.

All of the captain’s preoccupations fly around busily. The siren and the human back on the ship, Yeosang’s mental state, their current plan, the Compass, the petty officer. Everything swirls and swishes, but nothing can quite gain the traction to maintain dominance for long. It isn’t until they find themselves in front of the diplomat’s gates that the captain’s mind calms. All other ideas quiet as their planned ruse takes center stage.

“Would you please show us the crest one more time?” One of two guards on either side of the gate asks. She’s a statuesque, broad woman in uniform with a thick aura of imposition. Hongjoong already feels small in her vicinity, but her intimidating manner only further motivates him to shrink into the sidewalk. On the contrary, the guard on the other side is fairly willowy like a long, solid rail. She, however, appears no more friendly. Joong wonders if the sullen expression on her face is due to the doldrums of standing guard at an estate gate or simply her resting appearance.

Mingi does as he’s instructed, tugging on his lower lip to reveal the luminescent Song family crest. It’s ironic, how calm he appears in opposition to how much of a scaredy cat the Venusian is. Hongjoong once dropped a cup, and the loud sound of it caused the ex-noble to yelp. However, when tasked with putting on a brave charade, the Venusian is surprisingly up to task. Everything about Mingi - his posture, his tone of voice, his unwavering gaze, even the way he clasps his hands - speaks to confidence. He carries himself, well, like royalty. Like he has a right to be exactly where he is in that moment. He is calm, elegant, and genial without putting forth any sort of overt pride or sense of entitlement. It’s astounding to Hongjoong, remnant of the young man he and Yunho saw in the Nile plaza weeks ago.

The others aren’t quite as composed, though. Jongho tries to stand tall, but his fingers fidget restlessly behind his back. Yunho’s tail sinks between his legs as he trains his gaze on the ground and nibbles on his lower lip. 

“Thank you,” The guard who’d addressed Mingi says after putting away some sort of pen-like scanner. The woman turns to the gate column and starts pressing a pattern into what had appeared to be metal. Apparently, some sort of invisible interface had been built into it. Upon her touch, a projected console comes to life, beaming a holographic keyboard and screen. The hulking woman taps in a code of sorts, and a soundwave animates on the screen. “Would you kindly state your business again, Mr. Jeong?” In this case, she’s referring to Mingi. Or Minky. No, wait, it’s _ Minki _\- Hongjoong reminds himself. It wouldn’t do to forget their aliases.

Jeong Minki.

Joong suprresses a snort at the fake name. The Venusian is many things, but subtle is not one of them.

“My name is Jeong Minki,” Mingi starts coolly. “I’m a diplomatic scholar from Academia Hathor who’s been tasked with reaching out to planets of interest in regards to potential educational exchange prospects.”

The guard blinks at him silently for a moment. 

Mingi flashes a polite grin, “I hail from Neith, by the way, which is what the crest will tell you.”

She blinks again.

“One moment, please,” She mutters, turning back and tapping a button on the keyboard. Upon doing so, the projection disappears, and the guard returns to staring out at the street with a mildly menacing expression.

In the meanwhile, the four of them awkwardly wait for some sort of answer. Hongjoong takes in the gated estate - or what he can see of it. There’s not much to behold from the naked eye. The fence is thick, twirly gold patterns backed with thick hedges to block outsider views. Even the entry gate itself is rather strange yet so incredibly apt for Tierrohada. Golden whirls from each side collect into thick columns like vines gathering into a trunk. From said trunks, roots of gleaming gold branch out, meeting one another in a sort of oblong shape. Hongjoong can’t imagine what it looks like beyond the gate, but he imagines the design of the place will reflect the rest of Tierrohada’s style - organic, flowing and effeminate. However, as pretty as it is, the place also appears rather impenetrable. Aside from the fencing and thick hedges, there could be a large number of unseen security devices keeping the Ambassador’s mansion safe.

The guard presses a finger to her ear and nods to the group. The gesture rouses their attention, and they hold their collective breath for a moment waiting for their answer. It’s very possible that they’ll be barred from entry. They discussed what their options would be in the event that they weren’t let in, but, of course, all of the ideas they came up with ended up being fairly dangerous and illegal. The type of things that would, say, get them kicked off of another planet. Amagee is particularly nice, and Hongjoong would love for them to be able to leave a planet in peace just one time. Just _ once _.

“Please, come this way,” The guard tells them after a minute that felt like twenty. She gestures to the gate, and one by one the mesmerizingly twirling railings shrink back, revealing the entrance. “Secretary Minnie will see you into the house.”

All eyes fall on her - Secretary Minnie, that is. Just beyond the gate stands a petite woman holding a tablet of some kind. The word “smart” comes to mind when Hongjoong looks at her. She’s got dark hair with fringe pulled tightly into a neat ponytail, and her outfit is impeccable - a sophisticated, fitted dress with patterend panels and a high neckline. Something about her manner appears fairly unimpressed at first, but Joong considers that it might simply be her natural gaze as she has hooded eyes. 

The crew steps through the gate, and everyone’s heads whip around, no longer distracted by their guide. Hongjoong’s jaw drops in awe at the grand front yard. Down the middle, from the gate, there’s a winding path with a massive variety of inlaid stone - from common gray rocks to brilliantly shining agate and shimmering silver. Lush, green grass - like the kind Hongjoong always read about in books but had never seen - sits on either side of the path. Specks of color poke out from the green - tiny wildflowers, probably.

A chorus of shouts echoes from the other side of the path, and Joong’s head whips. Initially, his gut wrenches in terror, and he wonders how they’ve managed to piss off an apparent army in just five seconds. He halts abruptly to watch the spectacle taking up half the lawn. 

Row upon row of girls - young ones, probably none older than fourteen - stand in formation, grunting and yelling at the prompting of a single woman in front of them all. Each girl wears the same thing, a drapey uniform top and loose-fitting pants. The one guiding them scarcely appears older than her apparent students, a raily girl with a small face and a head of curls.

“Ah that’s our Yuqi teaching the girls’ taekwondo class,” The secretary, Minnie, tells the crew, clearly noticing their gawking. “Our Ambassador always advocates that our youth embody strength and grace. Yuqi’s one of the city police’s finest, though she may not look it. She’s very dedicated as you can see. Even teaching her class on the day of her engagement party.” 

“Ah, yes, I did hear word of that,” Mingi replies. “I apologize if this is a troublesome time for me to drop in. I only learned of the festivities upon landing. I had no intention of interrupting someone’s day of celebration.”

“Nonsense,” Minnie waves dismissively. “The party isn’t until later this evening. All of the details have been finalized for weeks. Your presence is far from an imposition.”

“I see,” Mingi nods. “I must thank you for your graciousness. From what it seems, you are quite a generous people.”

“Of course. We believe we should try to help one another out, no matter what. The Ambassador especially. She allows usage of the yard once a week to allow the girls to attune more to nature.”

“I’ve noticed that the marriage of nature and human is prevalent throughout the city,” Mingi responds. Joong practically snorts. It’s whiplash inducing, the difference between persona and person. The captain manages to hold it in as the “diplomat” continues. “Is that something valued by Tierrohada or would you say that such values persist across the country? The planet?”

Minnie grins and nods, “Quite an astute observation, your excellency. The preservation of the environment is one of the key pillars upon which our colonization was founded upon. When the first settlers came to Amagee, they saw the beautiful landscape and immediately understood how important it was to honor it. They vowed not to make the same mistakes that the men who ran Old Earth into the ground did. Tell me, your excellency, what exactly brings you to Tierrohada of all places on this planet?”

“My team and I scouted a few places of interest,” Mingi answers composedly. Damn, he’s good. A natural bullshitter, Hongjoong thinks. He wonders if it’s the result of his royal upbringing. Joong can think of few people full of more shit than royalty. “We nearly landed first in Verdeluz,” He chuckles. Verde-what? Hongjoong has to hold back another laugh. Did he make that up?

Joong glances at the secretary’s face and comes to understand that, no, Mingi didn’t. Her expression strains ever so slightly - a brow raising in pique and her grin tightening. Not only did Mingi mention a real place, he mentioned one that, apparently somehow strikes a chord with the people of Tierrohada. Hongjoong wonders what that’s about - and how the hell Mingi of all people figured that out. Maybe the bar had something on TV, Joong thinks. Maybe the two cities have rival football teams.

Mingi continues, “However, from the bit of information I gathered, I concluded that Tierrohada’s values align with mine more closely.”

Minnie’s slight tensity relaxes and she nods, “We’re glad you think so, your exellency. Come, let’s head inside, shall we?” The group nods in accordance and follows her toward the entrance. The beautifully inlaid path leads up a set of steps that ultimately lead to the grand entrance of an even grander mansion. The place is three stories tall and takes up an entire city block. Hongjoong has no idea how far back it goes, but he imagines he could get lost in the place if let loose without a geolocator. It’s surprisingly uniform unlike most of the architecture. Everything is symmetrical - an even number of windows on each side of the entrance which is accentuated by a golden arch fitting the gate. Its brick exterior is an understated beige tone as opposed to being a vivid color like the buildings in the city. The only break in the old-fashioned sameness is ivy climbing up the wall. The green hangs prettily, almost appearing to be an extension of the green lawn and flowerbeds lining the bottom.

“This way,” Minnie leads them up the steps, under the archway and into the grand, rounded double doors. The entrance is grand and open, light tile reflecting the mass amount of natural light flooding in. Portraits and landscapes line the walls in ornately carved gold frames along with floating sconces and a matching chandelier. In spite of how gargantuan the place is, it still feels light and airy, like a person could glide through. 

Everyone’s neck is craned in this direction or that. They take in the sight of oil paintings and moving pictures, of framed documents and abstract art pieces. They do so, following Minnie down a series of corridors until she finally waves them into a parlor of sorts filled with light. The back wall is entirely made of windows, and the sides have shelves stocked with actual, physical books. Hongjoong can guarantee that those books serve no purpose other than aesthetics - given that they contradict the whole nature conservation thing and, really, how many people own and use _ physical _books?

“Please, take a seat and get comfortable,” Minnie instructs the four of them, gesturing toward an incredibly _un_comfortable looking couch. The thing looks like it costs more than ATEEZ with how insanely patterned its woven upholstery is - not to mention the carved details of the frame. Hongjoong is half afraid that sitting on it would taint it or something. “Ambassador Soojin will be right with you. I apologize for any inconvenience due to the wait. The Ambassador is typically called upon by appointment only.”

“It’s not an inconvenience at all,” Mingi replies. “Thank you again for taking me on such short notice.”

“Well,” The woman responds, “It’s not every day we have Venusian diplomats knocking on our gate. It’s our honor to have you, your exellency. Now, I’m to be off, but, is there anything else I can get you all?”

“Actually, yeah,” Hongjoong blurts out. All eyes shoot to him, Minnie’s with brows raised inquisitively, the rest with brows knit in indignation. “Um- I- I’m sorry, I just… Where is the nearest restroom?”

It was the best thing he could think of to justify wiggling away. Out of the corner of his eye, the captain can spot Jongho clutching his fists tightly. Meanwhile, Yunho’s hands flinch, suppressing the reflex to clutch the bridge of his nose. 

Minnie answers, “Out this door, take a right. Take the third right, then it’s the second door on the left.” She says with a smile.

Shitting christ, Hongjoong muses, he would definitely get lost in this place.

“Thanks,” Hongjoong nods gratefully.

“Would you like me to walk you? I could-”

“No, no thank you. That’s alright. I got it. Take a right. Third right. Second on the left,” Hongjoong repeats the rapid recall.

Minnie nods, “Good memory! I can’t tell you how often people get lost. Well, if that’s all then, I’ll be on my way.” The secretary gives the group a shallow bow before seeing herself out. Hongjoong follows, starting in the direction she’d prompted him to. He glances over his shoulder frequently.

When the secretary’s figure is finally out of view, he ducks into the nearest corridor and scans the area. Nobody. No staff or servants or whatever they have. Taking a deep breath, Hongjoong withdraws his comm from his pocket and opens the geolocator. 

His heart thrums loudly in his ears as he watches the beacon blink. It’s so, so close to him, he swears he can almost feel it. A low static hum surges through his veins, electrifying him from within. Is this the power of the Compass? Or his own excitment? He can’t tell. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because he’s going to find something. He knows, feels, intuits it. He’s going to find something, and he can’t wait to see what. Determinedly, Hongjoong slinks down the corridor. His head empties of all thought and worries and fixes on one goal: get to the beacon. 

Find what Captain Maddox _ wanted _him to find.

* * *

Wooyoung shivers in the far corner of the cell. It’s cold in the brig. He wonders if the ship had been deliberately programmed in such a way that the jail cells are intentionally cooler. Knowing the Coalition, it wouldn’t surprise him. They would never miss an opportunity to wiggle their way into a person’s psyche and unwind them - even if they do so in only the slightest ways. Over time, it’s those little things that really add up. They stack up one by one, like little blocks, until the tower is teetering and the softest blow could send the entire structure clattering to the ground, an irreperable mess.

Kind of like what happened to him and San. 

The human hugs his knees closer. He regrets not wearing a jacket or something. Tierrohada had been so warm, he never expected to need an extra layer. Now, his body is shuddering uncontrollably as he presses himself into the metal walls of the cell - as far away as possible from him.

Their raging fury died down the instant they got thrown into the cell. The second the door shut behind the captain and crew, oppressive silence rolled in like a thick fog. They took their corners and haven’t spoken since. Not a word. 

The pressure presses heavily on Wooyoung’s chest. It’s a culmination of things - guilt, inadequacy, anger, resentment, loathing, anger, so, so much anger. Anger at San, anger at himself, anger at the captain, anger at the rest of the crew. 

He just wants to disappear.

Wooyoung begs his body to magically meld into the metal around him. He’s so tired. He attempted sleep, but the perpetual chill shaking his bones made it impossible. And so he sits in his corner, trying to maintain as much distance as possible from the siren.

It proves difficult given the size of the cell. Wooyoung’s wedged himself under the sink, between the bars and the small toilet. San took the cot. Even though his perch is way more comfortable, Woo’s got the feeling he hasn’t been resting, either. Occasionally, the human’s urges betray him, and he sneaks a glance at the siren.

A mess of ugly emotions rake up at the sight of the other laying with his back to the hume. Though he loathes to admit it, there’s so much light there, so many wonderful things he associates with the other. But they’d gotten mucked up, weighed down and dragged into the darkness by their conflicts. Wooyoung admires San.

San is beautiful. He’s curious and brave, so, _ so _brave. He’s stunning and bright and adorable and funny and incredibly strong. And every time Wooyoung looks at him, he can feel a pit form in his stomach. It digs a little deeper every time, the emotion, and no matter how hard Wooyoung wants or tries, he’s powerless to stop it. 

Ultimately, that just wounds Wooyoung even more. It’s as if two daggers are being driven into him simultaneously. The more he adores, the more he hurts himself. The more afraid he becomes that he won’t be able to stop himself.

“I can feel your eyes on me,” The siren mutters indignantly. Though his tone is quiet, it reverberates across the metal cell.

Wooyoung frowns, “I wasn’t looking at you.” He lies.

“Good. Keep it that way,” The siren responds, clipped. His tone further stirs the indignation swirling in Wooyoung’s gut.

Why is he so damn angry? What the hell is his problem? Wooyoung is always the first to admit his own faults. He’ll quickly own up to his own mistakes - when he makes legitimate ones. Yet he can’t, for the life of him, figure out what _ exactly _ San has found to fault him with? Why has he suddenly become a target for abuse and scorn? Because he has a past? Because he expresses his sexuality and speaks about it openly? It seems such an inconsequential reason. After all the prejudice San had overcome just to get himself onto ATEEZ, to see the humans as more than that - _ this _ is what bothers him?

The anger takes over, roiling Wooyoung’s guts. The human grips his knees more tightly. Impulse opens his lips.

“You gonna tell me what your problem is?” Wooyoung demands in a low voice.

San refuses to answer. He doesn’t even stir, adamantly facing the wall. Stubborn. Wooyoung exhales raggedly. Like every single sound and gesture in the confined space, the noise is exaggerated. He’s at a complete loss. Emotions were never quite his forte. He tends to be oblivious to things until it’s too late to reverse the consequences - case in point: his current situation. 

“Seriously?” Wooyoung asserts with a growl. 

The other remains coiled tight like a cornered snake. The siren doesn’t even so much as flinch. If Wooyoung didn’t know better, the other could be mistaken for asleep due to his stillness. But Woo does know better. He knows damn well San is doing this to spite him, and that just burrows further the pit in his stomach.

“We can assure the captain that we won’t fight again,” San finally responds in a pressed murmur.

“Can we?” Woo counters. Lunch clearly indicated otherwise.

“I lost my composure, but I don’t have any intention of doing it again.”

“What?”

“I’m sure we’re capable of at least being civil,” The siren says coldly.

  
The ball of sickness and heat nested in Wooyoung’s stomach swells, ballooning into his chest and stinging his eyes. So the other just wants to cut him off? Because of a single argument?

Wooyoung wrests himself. He clutches his knees tightly and lets the intial wave of emotion crash over him. The hume stubbornly sews his mouth shut. They’ve thrown enough crude insults at one another. No need to throw out more. He supposes that San’s proposition is for the best. Avoidance. It’s proactive prevention, a simple mutual agreement, a promise. Keep an appropriate distance, don’t get too close, don’t be alone.

It’s actually an ideal situation.

But it’s fantasy.

The ship is small, and, truthfully, Wooyoung has no idea what will set San off. All it took was an alleged escapade to earn the other’s scrutiny that morning. Is the idea of forced neutrality really sustainable if that’s the case? Will the siren fume every time Wooyoung - or anyone else - acts on their more carnal impulses? How long until one of them blows up again? How can they live in peace when they don’t even precisely understand what’s disturbing it in the first place?

Wooyoung frowns, “I thought we _ were _civil. Obviously, that’s not true.”

“Then we can be moving forward,” The siren replies, annoyed.

“Really?” Heat crackles in Wooyoung’s chest. “And how exactly do you expect that to work out? I have no idea what’s going to piss you off-”

“You don’t need to worry about it,” San’s response is strained, pressed through gritted teeth.

“I wasn’t worried about anything today, yet I somehow fucked that up royally. Can’t you at least tell me what you’re so worked up about?”

“Nothing.”

“C’mon, San, don’t lie to me.”

“It’s nothing of consequence.”

“Obviously, it’s something,” Wooyoung is nearly tempted to beg the other. It’s not as if he has the faith in himself to perfectly mend their disrepaired friendship - but at least he could prevent it from breaking apart even more. Buried in the raging fire of anger blazing in his gut is hurt.

“In truth I’m at fault,” San sighs. Woo opens his mouth to respond, but the siren’s follow-up knocks the air out of his lungs. “I set myself up for disappointment.”

What’s that supposed to mean? 

  
Wooyoung’s stomach twists and turns. Cognitive dissonance obscures the line between loathing the other and loathing himself.

“Do you regret being here?” Wooyoung asks in a low voice. He doesn’t know why. It’s an awful question, he thinks. A terrible paradox - damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t sort of trap. Guilt drives into the smoldering swill in Woo’s stomach. It’s not lost on him that he’s in part to blame for San’s presence on ATEEZ. Had he never chased that call, the siren would likely be content in the waters of his home planet. He’d have never broken his ankle.

He’d have never been disappointed by Jung Wooyoung.

“No,” San answers coolly. “I simply just… Nevermind.”

“No, not nevermind!” The words burst out from Wooyoung’s lips of their own volition. “If you’ve got a problem, why don’t you tell me?!”

“Would you even care?” San’s question hangs in the air, words dripping with bitterness. Target acquired, shot delivered. Wooyoung feels the noxious query go straight for his throat.

His mouth hangs open as he cobbles together his words, “Wh- How can you even ask that?!”

“It doesn’t matter so long as we maintain a semblance of peace-”

“I think it does matter!” Wooyoung insists, scales beginning to tip in the favor of anger.

“Does it really?” San finally moves, turning over and sitting up so he can stare daggers at the other.

“Yeah, yeah it does. Obviously it matters to you.”

The siren’s nose wrinkles in disdain, “You don’t know anything about me.”

  
“How could I possibly know what’s going on in your head when you just- just sulk around all angry-like?!”

“I do not _ sulk _!” San’s eyes widen and his jaw drops in offense. “If you really gave a shit maybe you’d have thought to ask. But it’s clear you don’t.”

“Ask? Ask what? How can I possibly approach you? You’re- you’re untouchable lately.”

  
“I highly doubt you see anyone as untouchable,” San’s voice lilts, almost singing the condescending insult.

Weight drops onto the anger end of the spectrum, pulling Wooyoung closer and closer toward the edge.

“That-” The man responds in a low voice, barely suprressing his fury, “-is exactly why I can’t talk to you about anything. I can’t even look at you without you saying some shit like that.”

“What? The truth?”

“Your version of it.”

“I form my truth off of the information available to me-”

“You heard me say one thing with- with no context!”

“I can’t possibly imagine context would’ve made it better,” The siren’s simmering anger heats, rising to a low boil.

“You didn’t even give me a chance-”

“A chance to what? To lie to me?”

“San, I have never lied to you,” Wooyoung frowns. The ill sensation in his gut swells dangerously like a sea beneath storm clouds.

“Pssh-” San breathes out through his nose and rolls his eyes.

“Okay, I- I dunno why I even bother since, clearly, you don’t believe me.”

“You made it clear back on that ship,” San’s already glum expression darkens into something more sinister, angry. “You’ll say whatever you need to in order to get what you want.” He crosses his arms even more tightly around himself. 

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says in a low voice. He nods, scarcely suppressed ire beginning to seep through his pores onto the surface. “Yeah I did say that. And you’re just a perfect fucking angel, aren’t you?” He spits back, brows knit together, accusatory.

“Wha-”

“You’re a real madonna and I’m just the whore, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I may be a piece of shit, but at least I’ll admit it,” Wooyoung stands up, stepping over to the side of the cot so he can loom over the seated siren. “You, on the other hand, seem happy to put _ everything _on me. Like this isn’t a two way fucking street.”

San, never one to be intimidated one on one, stands up, too. Upon the meeting of their gaze, static resentment discharges, sparking between them volatilely. Wooyoung remembers the last time he’d seen San with that gaze - eyes dark, completely devoid of mirth or mercy. It was when he first dragged the human under with the intent to kill.

“I did not uproot a person’s life for a quick lay,” San finally speaks in a murmur so quiet it’s almost a whisper.

Wooyoung huffs angrily. Normally, he’d be more than sympathetic, but at this point he knows it’s a play. It’s not fair.

“I didn’t do shit,” Wooyoung responds. “It was _ you _ who beckoned _ me _, remember?”

“As if I knew you would answer the call. I didn’t know anyone was on the island-”

“You wanna talk about lying?” Wooyoung leans in, forcing the other to take a step back. “You think I’m brain dead? We made a crash landing. Like hell you didn’t expect someone to come. Was it premeditated-?”

“You know nothing.”

“Did you hear the crash and plan to lure a human? What did you- did you think I’d make a nice trophy or something?”

San goes quiet for an instant, and his intensity falters, gaze flitting to the ground. Even if unintentional, it’s a revelation of concession. Wretched satisfaction shoots into the human’s veins. So he’s on to something.

“Oh- Oh, wow,” Wooyoung laughs wryly, “So the truth comes out. You act real fuckin’ high and mighty for someone who planned to kill me on sight and parade me around your commune.”

“I didn’t!” San fires back, his voice echoing across the brig. “Though at times you make me regret it.”

“Yeah. Nice,” Wooyoung huffs, ready to tuck himself back into his corner of the cell.

“I never decieved you. My intentions were always clear.”

Wooyoung snorts at that, “I’m sorry you- Wh- _ You _ never decieved me? Never _ deceived _me?!” He lets out another laugh - one completely devoid of joy. “You baited me into running to that clearing, then you played coy to get me in the water with you!”

“Well once I-”

“You were fucking naked, by the way. Don’t think I forgot that part, because I didn’t and I just…” Woo heaves a hefty sigh. Faint, ghostly memories float across his mind - the sensation of wet skin beneath his hands, the hum of a low whisper tickling his earlobe. “You did the exact same shit you shit on me about.”

“I- I’m sorry?” It’s the siren’s turn to laugh, apparently, and he lets out a howl of mirthless disbelief. “Me and you? The same? No. I- No. I did what I thought necessary-”

“Necessary to kill me in cold blood.”

“-in the way I was taught to do so-”

“Seduction?” Woo narrows his eyes. “You know I heard how you got out of your cell, too. How you used the siren’s song-”

“That was a survival situation!” San gasps, taken aback. “You’ve got some fucking nerve accusing me of whoring myself out like y-”

“Well maybe it was a survival situation for me, too!” Wooyoung shouts over the other. Their voices bounce loudly through the metal corridor, an agonized caterwaul.

“No. It’s not the same. You- You said things-”

“I said what, San? What did I say? That I was perfect?”

“You told me that you’d-”

“That I’d what? I never promised you anything!”

  
“I lost everything-”

“San- Listen, I- I get it, I’m sorr-”

“No, you don’t get it! You will never get it-!”

“You don’t know shit about my life-”

“You don’t talk about your life! Even if you did how could you possibly understand what I’ve gone through?!”

“Well of course I fucking can’t because you won’t say shit about it to me! You seem fine talking to Mingi about it-”

“Don’t bring him into this!”

  
“Why does it have to be me, huh? What is it about me, huh!?”

“Because I- I expected-”

“Expected what? A therapist? A- A diplomat?! One of the first things I told you when we met was that I’m- I’m not-”

“Someone who keeps their word?” San huffs.

Wooyoung balks, “I never promised you shit!”

“I- You- I left everything!” San wrings his hands roughly through his hair, face scrunched with grievance.

“What did I have to do with that? I don’t make your choices for y-”

“I thought you would- I thought you were- I thought you were good, Wooyoung-”

The words pierce Wooyoung’s heart like a barbed pike. Hurt ripples from his chest across his bodies, all the way up his ears and to the tips of his toes.

“Well I’m not!” He yells back. “I told you I’m no good, so I don’t know why the fuck you chose to believe otherwise-”

“So this is _ my _fault is what you’re saying? I’m just the idiot who got conned into letting a bunch of humans off of my planet alive? Who gave up everything because-”

“I _ never asked you to! _” Wooyoung shouts.

“I really should’ve just killed you when I had the chance!” San’s eyes gloss over with wet tears.

“Well it’s just you and me now, so why not go for it now, huh?” Woo steps forward, deliberately invading the other’s space further.

San moves forward, forcing Wooyoung back a step, “Don’t tempt me.” His nostrils flare and his chest rises erratically with strained, angry breath.

“Go ahead,” Wooyoung dares the other, completely overtaken with rage and bitterness. “Do your worst. Put me in one of your little trances.”

“I wouldn’t need to,” The siren huffs haughtily. “You don’t stand a chance.”

The two lapse into silence. Their gazes remain tangled as they size one another up. For a second, life passes in slow motion. Every sense and sensation feels heightened to Wooyoung. His chest hammers against his ribcage, the steady rhythm of the beat echoing loudly in his eardrums. Heat envelops his body, prickling his fingertips and swathing across his face. The anger is so overwhelming, it clouds his thoughts in such a way that his vision blurs. At the end of the shifty tunnel of his vision, only one thing remains in focus: the siren.

Wooyoung growls, “Course you wouldn’t.” His temper takes over his body, using him as a mouthpiece. “You just like using it because it makes you feel wanted. You could probably fuck my mind up in all kinds of ways, but you like to play with your food-”

“Ignorant,” San cuts in sharply, more indignant than ever.

“-it thrills you, doesn’t it? Feeling desired? It’s a pretty nice high-”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“-calling me, using your little powers in the colony, singing in the Venusian bazaar - shit. It all makes sense,” Wooyoung’s laugh is venomous. “You and I aren’t that different-”

“I am nothing like you-”

Their volley of voices steadily increases in volume as it decreases in sense and order. The two fire back at one another, completely and utterly consumed. Their one intention is to hurt, to land a killing blow.

“-is that why you’re so pissed at me-”

“-no-”

“-because you see what you hate the most?”

“-I am not a cowardly, manipulative _ slut- _”

“-because you see yourself-”

“-who will happily roll over and spread their legs for any person-”

“-at least I don’t have to sing a song to make people want me-”

“-want you?! You think they want you? They want to use you and throw you out-”

“-it’s more than you get-”

“-I can’t imagine enjoying such a sad, pathetic life-”

“-please, you’re such a fucking attention whore. You think I don’t see you pitch a fucking fit when things aren’t about you?”

“I do not pitch a fit-!”

“Bullshit! You’ve got issues-”

“-As if you don’t?! God- I can’t even fathom what- what I ever saw-”

“Oh my god, would you_ shut the fuck UP _!” A voice rises above the noise, booming down the brig. 

The siren and human abruptly halt, eyes wide and jaws dropped in shock. They exchanged shocked looks, the fervor of their battle entirely snuffed out in an instant. Wooyoung hesitantly leans over to peek out from the bars. His face scrunches into an even more surprised look when he makes eye contact with Petty Officer Park Seonghwa in all his bleach blond and blue-eyed glory, pressed against the bars of his cell with the most piqued scowl of irritation Woo had ever seen the man wear. San, equally as baffled, leans over and sneaks a glance, too. 

“And stop interrupting one another for shit’s sake,” The petty officer, looking unusually ruffled, groans. “This is getting nowhere.”

“Oh-” Wooyoung breathes out. “Oh I’m sorry were we- were we _ interrupting _something, here? Were you busy with something important?” He furrows his brows at the petulant blond. “Because we were having a conversation-”

“A conversation?!” The petty officer snickers. “That was _ not _ a conversation. That was a shipwreck. A shipwreck that collided with a meteor that then got pulled into the gravitational pull of a black hole and ripped apart atom by atom. That’s what _ that _was.”

“Well I’m _ so _ sorry that we don’t converse quietly over tea and crumpets,” Wooyoung says. “Why don’t you mind your business, and we’ll mind ours.”

“Your business stopped being your business when you two decided to get into a shouting match while I was trying to sleep,” The blond replies with a shrug. “Let me get this straight: I don’t give a flying fuck about you two. I don’t care about your apparently sordid affairs, how many people you sleep with or, really, even if you get along. But you two are starting to annoy the shit out of me. Plus, we all know your captain’s a stubborn ass. If he doesn’t get his way - and you two don’t get along - you guys will be stuck here. None of us want that.”

Wooyoung considers the officer’s words for a moment. It’s true, Hongjoong is a fairly adamant individual. Sure, he can be reasoned with, but if he feels that he’s in the right, he’ll dig his heels in for ages. The first mate frowns. His eyes shift over to the siren. San’s fierce aura is nowhere to be found. Now, he just appears a bit wide-eyed and lost. With the heated passion of their argument dying down, guilt starts to replace the anger that’d overtaken Wooyoung, and he frowns. The things he said… He didn’t mean them, not really. It was all deflection and low blows. Though he’s far from the other’s biggest fan in the moment, that doesn’t mean he believes the shit he said. 

The snooty officer speaks again, “The real question is: do you two genuinely despise one another? Do you truly want to forgo resolution altogether?”

“Don’t tell me you actually intend to act as a facilitator,” San scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Wooyoung’s irritation dampens by the second, and he gives the siren a pleading look, “San,” He says softly. “He’s got a point.”

“What- Are you seriously siding with the petty officer of all people?” The siren gasps incredulously. 

“San,” Wooyoung hushes himself even more, hoping the other can’t hear. He sighs, “San I don’t… I don’t want it to be like this. This isn’t okay. It’s not okay for us, and it’s not fair to the rest of the crew.”

San’s harshness begins to diminish. He worries at his lower lip for a moment as he considers the hume’s words.

“Fine,” The siren replies coldly. “You’re right. We ought to be more civilized. I at least owe it to the other people on board.”

The other people - that stings Wooyoung ever so slightly, but he takes the blow. It’s weak, lacking the bite it would’ve had minutes prior.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung nods. The tension that floods out of his body leaves anxiety in its place. His nerves have knotted themselves up in every which way, and he can’t even begin to figure out how to disentangle them. “You wanna, um, you wanna sit down over there and I-” He gestures to the other side of the cell, “-over here?”

San nods, “Yeah. Okay, let’s talk-” His voice raises, “-but I don’t wanna hear anything from the petty officer!”

“I don’t care!” The blond’s voice echoes down the hall. “Just try not to interrupt each other, and it’s best not to insult the other, too. Give yourself at least five minutes to say precisely how you fe-”

“For someone who doesn’t care you sure seem to care!” Wooyoung interrupts the blond, hoping to shut him up. A smirk of satisfaction crosses Woo’s lips when he gets nothing but silence in return. Good. The acute awareness of the blond’s presence is something Wooyoung hadn’t had before. Now that he’s reminded that there is a third party present, laying everything out makes him feel all the more vulnerable. He reminds himself that the blond is nothing - that he genuinely does not care, and that him being there oughtn’t inhibit anything.

“San,” Wooyoung says in a voice that he hopes is low enough not to carry too much. “Why don’t you go first?”

“H-Hm?” The siren’s gaze flits away from the fidgeting fingers in his lap. “Me first?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung nods. “Unless you, like, really don’t want to. I- I just-” He shrugs. “I dunno. I don’t get it.”

“You don’t get what?”

“I don’t get you, San.”

“I’m not some abstract equation for you to solve. It’s really just-” He sighs heavily. “You promise you won’t interrupt me?”

“Promise,” Wooyoung nods. 

“No matter how odd it seems? Even if what I say sounds silly?”

Woo nods again in affirmation, “That’s the point of this thing, right? For us to, uh, put it out there…” Embarrassed heat stings his cheeks. Authentic feelings aren’t necessarily his forte. He’s not sure he’s ever sat down with another person and deliberately laid everything out in the open. He imagines it’s the type of thing someone like Yeosang or Yunho would do. A person who’s straightforward and blunt, a good person with no skeletons hiding in their closet or boogeymen lurking under their bed. Wooyoung? Not so much. He’s fairly content revealing what needs to be and nothing more. He couldn’t imagine being an open book like that. But if only for the duration of their stay in the drafty brig, that’ll have to change.

He owes it to the crew, to the captain, to himself…

To San.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, San. Tell me why- why are we like this? Or at least your feelings leading up to, um, this,” Woo coughs. He waves to the other unceremoniously and the siren nods.

“W-Well,” It’s clear that San is uncomfortable, too. He scoots back on the cot and lifts his knees, wrapping his arms around them and holding them close. “I’m not sure I even know where to begin.” He laughs wryly. Wooyoung just nods, tries to seem encouraging. The stark contrast from their furious argument just a little bit ago is almost whiplash inducing. Even though part of it feels profoundly wrong, Woo is actually grateful to Petty Officer Park. The man’s interruption gave them the shock they needed. Things likely would’ve gotten violent otherwise. The truth is that this is what Wooyoung really wanted - a civil conversation. Unsurprisingly, he had no idea how to get there, though. The hume frowns, chastising himself for his inability. Somehow even Petty Officer Park managed to diffuse conflict more effectively than he. Woo’s heart dips at the thought, but he’s swiftly pulled out of his contemplations when San’s voice picks up again.

“Wooyoung, when you and I met, we- I- I had my doubts about humans,” San says. His voice is tiny and insecure - so unlike the strong, boisterous front he puts up. “Obviously, I did. I wanted to kill you which became clear quickly. Um, but I also had my doubts about… About despising them as well. I was always raised to be a warrior. Strong. Pride of the tribe - all of that. My name, it means ‘mountain’ because the tribe fathers wanted me to be a strong mountain for others to lean on.

“I…” San swallows hard, blinking wetness out of his eyes. His gaze drops to his lap as he goes on. “I apologize for the digression.”

Wooyoung almost gives him a “you’re okay” - but he refrains. No interruptions. Instead he nods, urging the other to continue.

San does with a sniff, “I suppose my point is that I… I was raised to be a certain way, but I never quite fit that mold. I was always curious about the land. About different types of people and the prospects of exploring. To me it sounded so strange to think that, in centuries of time our people never sought to leave our planet. Not even just to- to explore.” He shrugs, “I was different, though. And I wanted to believe humanity was different, too. And then I met you.” He timidly lifts his eyes to meet Wooyoung’s.

Jumbled nerves stir in Wooyoung’s chest at the sight of the other so vulnerable. He simply nods again, mouth glued shut.

“I met you, and you were different than- than all the depictions of man. All the stories and the history. Well- You were mostly different,” The siren lets out a humored breath. “You apologized and I… I took a liking to you. I thought you would be… Good. You seemed kind and reasonable and sympathetic. Like someone worth sticking their neck out for. Obviously I did just that for you - and your crew. And I got kicked out.

“But Hongjoong was so gracious to take me in and you-” The siren’s eyes drop again. “-you treated me very well for awhile. I felt very… I felt like you really were better than all of that. After being exiled and forced into life in such a- a strange, new place, I felt so shaken up, but you- I felt safe with you. I had this high regard for you which I- I suppose is my fault. I imposed it on you - this idea of who I thought Wooyoung was. And as time went on you- we- I dunno. It’s like you chipped away at it.”

  
San frowns, and so does Wooyoung.

“You acted in ways and did things that made me feel less… Secure. You threw yourself at other people and I questioned whether you cared for me or behaved the way you did out of obligation or pity. I felt like I didn’t matter. Then, I- I don’t know. I got injured and you seemed to care again. But then I- it’s as if… I feel like we would- we’d grow closer, but then every time we got closer, we would… We would end up further apart somehow. I feel like you distance yourself from me. Like you just- you get sick of me or something. I suppose I can be too needy. I probably relied on you too heavily.”

Wooyoung flinches at that, mouth twitching with the urge to shout: “No!”. Once again, he holds himself back. He hopes his wide, apologetic eyes speak to the truth that, in spite of their spat, Wooyoung is not sick of San. He’s just sick of the way San’s treated him of late.

Guilt drags the hume’s heart down further and further. San has every right not to feel safe after all the shit they’ve gone through. Wooyoung couldn’t help fast enough in BH, and he couldn’t do anything to stop them getting pulled in by the Stray Boyz, either. He’s failed not just San, but the rest of the crew. If the roles were swapped, Wooyoung wouldn’t feel secure or comfortable either. Would he be nice to the other person under San’s circumstances?

San wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, “Like I said: I set myself up for disappointment. And then I overheard you on the ship, and I just-” He pauses for a moment, his grip on his knees tightening. Voice thick, he powers through, “-you meant a lot to me- the first human I ever met, the one who- who sat with me the first time I flew in a ship - and I felt like you just- none of it mattered. That I was a slab of meat or some savage you feared. It made me angry, and it made me...” He sniffs, and his voice drops to a whisper, “It made me jealous of those who did get your regard. Even if only in a passing moment or for a night. I took out that anger on you. And then you just- I don’t know. It almost felt as if you acted to spite me. I… I’m still scared, you know?” The siren’s voice starts to crack, and Wooyoung’s heart splinters along with it. “Everything is still so new and I just- I’m so glad we have this amazing, weird family around us but I guess I just- I thought that the one who was really gonna see me through it was you.”

The siren lets out another long sigh, unwrapping his arms and crossing his legs, “So, that’s- that’s all of it, I think.” San’s voice is shaky and nervous, and his fair complexion is flushed. His fingers twitch and his knees bounce busily, a show of his nerves. “That is how I feel. It just boils down to, um, yeah. I- I am disappointed in you, but really it’s just- I shouldn’t have leaned on you so heavily or put you on a pedestal. I just- I wanted you to be the one who- who helped me transition into this new world. Instead we do this strange back and forth thing. I feel you warm up only to freeze over again, and that wounds me. I want to be close to you, but I guess you don’t want the same. Or maybe friendship is different to you. I-” He throws his hands up. “I don’t know. I’m tired of this weird cloud hanging over us.”

Wooyoung nods, blinking rapidly to keep his own tears at bay. All he can register is guilt and shame. 

_ “Keep an eye out for him.” _

Hongjoong told Wooyoung to watch after San. The memory feels like one from centuries ago. It wasn’t, though, and San has been in the human world - traveling in space, going to new planets - for such a short amount of time. Wooyoung promised the captain he would care for San. He made a silent promise to himself, too.

Instead, he’d done the opposite.

  
He’d hurt the other. Made him feel like a burden. Made him feel unwanted. San hadn’t been the most gracious, either, but who would in the siren’s situation? Wooyoung wrings a hand over his face, trying to keep his guilty tears from falling.

“Um- You can talk now,” San mutters, scratching his nape sheepishly.

“Wh- Oh, uh, okay,” Wooyoung coughs out in an attempt to cover his sniffs. “Right, my turn, um… I don’t know- I don’t know where to, uh, start.” This is embarrassing. Being put in the spotlight makes Wooyoung increasingly aware. How did San _ do _it? Wooyoung highly dislikes this type of stuff. 

His emotional intelligence is probably equal to that of a cockroach, and having to somehow explain it feels like an incredibly daunting task. It would help if he knew for certain what he felt, but he doesn’t. So many notions, ideas, sensations and emotions fly around at all times, overlapping, tangling, colliding and conflicting. Sometimes, he distrusts himself, unable to determine the authenticity what he thinks he’s feeling at a given time. How in the hell can he begin to explain how he’s feeling to someone else, then?

“Yeah, I know,” San chuckles. He swiftly clamps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and apologetic for interrupting. Wooyoung snickers, a smile teasing at the edge of his lips. San is so damn cute, and without even trying to, he manages to lift the human’s mood slightly. Woo wishes he could express how grateful he is.

“I just- I- I dunno,” Wooyoung starts nervously. “I… San, I- I never knew how you- That you felt like that. I, um, I dunno I just-” He shrugs. “-I can be stupid and impulsive, and I am very easily distracted. I’m a very flawed human being, and I just feel- or felt, I dunno, I just- it’s a lot… Of pressure.” He admits, attempting to brave a look in the other’s eyes. San nods, a small frown on his lips. Though Wooyoung’s gut reaction is to satiate the other, he determinedly continues being honest. The other had been honest, after all, he ought to be, too.

“I make mistakes. A lot of mistakes. And I just- The fact that you hold me to such a standard it makes it feel worse. Sometimes I’m scared it’ll be like a self fulfilling prophecy or something, like-” He wrings a hand through his hair, trying to explain what’s on his mind. “-like everyone- you guys- you don’t know me so well, and… You’re all so nice. You think I’m a good guy, and I dunno, I’m like… In my head I just wonder: 'What happens when I disappoint them?' I-” A thick swell of sadness rises in his chest, and he sniffs loudly as his voice gets lower. “I don’t wanna hurt people, San. But then I, like, I dunno, I purposely self-sabotage? And I just- when people say bad shit about me- even if they tease me I just… I’m like, ‘Well I better play into their expectations’- I- I don’t know. I don’t even think I’m making sense, I’m sorry, I just-” Wooyoung can’t bear it anymore.

  
He covers his hands with his face and sniffs loudly, his ribcage tremoring with a thick sob. When the bulk of it tides over, he speaks again.

“I throw myself at stuff when I’m distressed and worried. I throw myself at people. It’s, just, like, always been a thing I do. A comfort, I guess. Iunno-” He’s pretty certain he’s rambling at this point. He’s surprised San hasn’t stopped him, told him he’s completely off base or that he doesn’t make sense. Woo doesn’t even know what the hell he’s saying, but the words keep coming out. “And I guess you can call me what you want for that, but that- that doesn’t diminish the care I have for the people - the _ real _ people in my life, San. I, um, I don’t know what I’m… I’m sorry, I am really bad at this, I just- I can’t be that person all the time. I know I told you that I wanted to show you humanity’s not so bad, but I wasn’t talking about me. I’m not- I am not a good example I mean-” He gestures to himself and shrugs.

“I just- It’s just pressure, San. I can’t take that pressure. I crack and then I just- I throw myself at people and things I shouldn’t. I throw myself at things I don’t even want to just because- because I can. Because it’s easier than facing reality. I dunno. And I dunno whenever you say shit about my past or my preferences or whatever, I just- I don’t know how to describe it I just… I feel like I might as well play into it just to- to spite you. You wanna call me a slut?” Wooyoung sniffs, “Fine. I’ll show you how much of a fucking slut I can be. At least then I’m living up to some type of expectation, right? Reliably unreliable. I… I don’t usually care when people say shit like that but when you say it? Well I guess-” Wooyoung’s expression falls, dipping with his mood, crestfallen. “I guess it’s just like a reminder of how much I let you down. How much of a disappointment I am. And that… That hurts.” Admitting it is like driving needles into his eyes. “It hurts, San. I’m sorry. And- And I’m sorry because this is like-” He sighs. “-It probably makes zero sense. I don’t even think I know what the hell I’m saying. I just- I don’t know. I don’t know. All I do know is that I just wanna be friends with you, San.”

“... Friends?” San’s voice comes out in a low squeak, like a mouse.

When Wooyoung ventures a look at the siren’s face, his mood drops even further. The prospect doesn’t appear particularly pleasing to the siren. It’s not as if San looks wildly offended. He simply appears strained. The edges of his lips draw down ever so slightly. Wooyoung wonders: what did he say wrong? He chides himself for making things worse, hoping elaboration helps.

“Y-Yeah. Like before?” Wooyoung ventures. His stomach knots and unknots itself. “I miss you, but I just feel like we’ve been so… Tense. B-but if you would prefer to keep it, like, professional - just talk about our duties on the ship - that’s fine, too. Just- Look, San, I can’t give you everything. I can’t be that- that strong pillar you want, I’m sorry. But I still wanna be there for you. Whatever you need, if I can give it, I will. San, I’m so sorry, I- I’m sorry...”

San’s eyes cast to the ground, and the brig goes silent for an excruciating moment.

“I’m sorry,” San finally replies. “For burdening you so much.”

“San, no- it’s not like that.”

“I think it is. You said it yourself, you cracked under the pressure. The pressure that I put on you. I- I’m so sorry. I only thought of myself, of my emotions and my needs. It’s unfair to you.”

“Of course you did,” Wooyoung replies sympathetically. “You got exiled from your homeland, thrown into this crazy new world and then it’s been like nonstop insanity ever since. We’ve been in and out of danger, and we’ve traveled lightyears. This is a shock. I would be way more selfish if I were in your position.”

“That’s no excuse for being cruel to you.”

“Yeah, but I neglected you.”

“You’re not obligated to take care of me.”

“Look, I mean, maybe not, but I- San, I want to. At least to the best of my ability,” Wooyoung replies timidly. 

San gazes at the human silently for a few moments. Something swims beneath the dark orbs, but Wooyoung can’t gather what. The siren worries at his lip and bounces a leg. He almost appears to have something to say. The words sit their on the tip of the siren’s lips.

“Friends, then?” San says hesitantly. “You want to be friends?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung nods. He steps over toward the cot San’s sitting on and extends a pinky. “Friends.”

San eyes the extended digit dubiously at first. Then, in a blur of black and red hair, he bursts out of his perch and jumps at Wooyoung. The human yelps at the sudden collision, just barely catching the other before they crash onto the ground. Hot tears sting Wooyoung’s eyes anew - this time invoked by relief and joy. He wraps his arms around the other’s waist and squeezes him tight, relishing in the other’s closeness.

A dizzying high rushes over him as he basks in the other’s warmth. San affectionately nuzzles Wooyoung’s shoulder, contentedly nestling himself in the crook of the human’s neck. The two squeeze so tightly that their heartbeats collide.

“I’m so sorry, San,” Wooyoung coos as the siren’s body melts into his. He knows he shouldn’t luxuriate in the sensation too much but, _ god _, does it feel right. “I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay,” San’s words get muffled, the vibrations tickle Wooyoung’s neck, ruffling the dark fabric of his shirt.

“Let’s never do that again, okay?”

“Mhm,” The siren enthusiastically nods, still plastered to the human.

“And San, just so you know, you are so much more to me than any random lay, okay? No matter what happens, how many people I’ve slept with - none of that has anything to do with you. I care so much about you, you don’t even know. So, don’t ever feel jealous of those people. You are so much more than them.”

San shudders in Wooyoung’s grip, and the human slackens for a second. He wonders if the other is uncomfortable or if he wants to let go. But suddenly, something hot and wet wipes across his collarbone. He’s crying. 

Wooyoung holds the other just about as tight as he reasonably can. He whispers dozens of apologies and promises he’ll probably break. All the while the siren - the formidable, strong, prideful, stunning siren - crumbles. Wooyoung knows he’s far from perfect. 

San deserves someone strong. A good, whole person who doesn’t lash out or self-sabotage. That’s the type of person that ought to be the one he relies on the most. Until then, Wooyoung swears to do everything he can. He figures he’s bound to disappoint again. He knows himself too well to say otherwise.

But in that moment, San is his to hold, his to protect, his to cherish. And so Wooyoung does. He does what he thinks is best, letting the other vent all the built up stress, despair, sadness and pain that he’d been keeping locked up tight.

  
When San exhausts himself, he unlatches from Wooyoung. The human laments the loss of warmth, but he’s quickly pacified when the other hops onto the cot and invites him to join. The fit is cramped, but the two slot closely against one another and manage to make due. They opt to nap, hoping their crew’s afternoon had been less difficult than theirs.

Though it was a challenge, the two agree: it was necessary and very, very worth it.

San dozes off first, and Wooyoung’s not far behind. His eyelids feel heavy, weighed down from the exertion of their conversation. That’s probably the most he’s talked about his feelings in a decade, he thinks. Though he knows he shouldn’t get used to it, he indulges in the other’s presence this time around.

Woo nuzzles the other’s nape, taking in the siren’s distinct scent: a mix of sweet musk tinged with salt. His last thoughts before surrendering to sleep are of how grateful he is to have met such a gracious, beautiful person as San. He’s glad he and San can be friends.

That’s all he can ask for.

That’s all he deserves.

* * *

Hongjoong presses himself against a wall and watches around the corner of the hallway. The ambassador’s estate seemed like a maze at first, but upon navigating it more, he’s realized it’s actually a fairly simple one. It’s a grid, really. A collection of intersecting corridors interspersed with small hallways. Everything speaks to the design aesthetic of Tierrohada as outside makes its way in with the addition of plants and natural landscape projections. Twirly gold moulding lines every wall, and all of the hardware fixtures of the doors match in color while varying in form to avoid making the place appear too sterile and uniform.

A shadow peeks out from around the corner he’d thrown his body into. Staff walk the halls effortlessly, apparently acquainted with the layout of the massive mansion. He’s sure that he’d stick out like a sore thumb if he got caught. Even though there are apparent visitors for whatever party the Ambassador’s holding, he’s fairly sure that even with his best efforts, he doesn’t look the type to get an invite. They’re still hours out, anyway. He’d get thrown out for sure.

When the shadow disappears, slinking off in the opposite direction, the tension in Joong’s body flushes out, and he heaves a sigh. His trek through the place has been slow going due to the foot traffic. After about twenty minutes, the beacon finally appears to be close. Really, really close. He eyes the blinking point on his comm anxiously. 

What if it’s nothing?

What if it’s a glitch?

No, he tells himself. It won’t be nothing. It can’t be. He doesn’t know why he believes it so firmly, but he does. Hongjoong doesn’t consider his trust in the Compass as faith - it’s knowledge. It’s real. He knows it’s real. Every place he’s been - everywhere it’s led ATEEZ and its crew - has been for a reason. He just knows it. What the reason is… Well, that’s up to interpretation. But in his short time following the mysterious device, Hongjoong has learned so, so much about the universe and about others who reside in it. He never realized how isolated he and Yunho had truly been until they started exploring other places. He always thought that the two of them had the universe at their fingertips, but the truth is: they limited themselves. They kept their heads down and kept to themselves. Their routes were familiar, well-worn and secure. They got by and did little else. Hongjoong knew nothing of sirens or the cyborgs of BH colony. He’d never heard of Venus or realized that Coalition crackdowns affected even the most notorious gangs.

Joong supposes that not all of his new discoveries were good, but ultimately he can’t imagine living without them now. It’s strange, he muses, how in such a short time he feels he’s changed so much. Things that felt like a fairytale to him are now his reality, and reality has proved itself much, much scarier than storybooks.

Hongjoong, assured his path is clear, shuffles around the corner rapidly. His pupils dart between his nav and the hallway. He rushes as quickly as he can without breaking out into a full run. The main corridors are long and wide; sounds travel easily throughout, and he doesn’t want to rouse suspicion. 

Heart hammering, Joong approaches the beacon with haste. He glances around, checking again and again for something - an indication of the Compass. As if there’ll be a light up sign or sound beckoning him.

  
There isn’t, though. Of course not. He chides himself for being so childish. Just because aspects of his life are fantastical doesn’t mean he’s living in an actual storybook. That’d be silly.

Hongjoong halts abruptly as his location nearly overlaps with that of the beacon. He studies the surrounding area again. He’d somehow ended up near the back of the estate, it seems. The wall behind him is nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a courtyard full of busy workers setting up tents. In front of him is another span of wall, adorned with paintings and projections. Joong nibbles his lower lip, furrowing his brows as he tries to discern the meaning of the beacon. He paces nervously, trying to understand where it’s trying to lead him.

He takes a few steps in one direction, then another, watching his position pass the beacon ever so slightly. The captain frowns, wondering what it could mean. He sees nothing but a plain wall. Heart beginning to dip, he determinedly swallows down the dread in his gut. Had he and his crew committed fraud for nothing? He leans in, inspecting the paintings closer. Perhaps something is affixed to the backside of one of them, he ponders.

He walks along the wall at a sluggish pace, fingering gilded frames delicately. He traces his hand along the twirling golden trim and carved flowers until something stops it.

  
A doorframe.

“Oh,” He mutters to himself dumbly. Glancing at his comm, he realizes that, no, the beacon isn’t inside the wall. It’s likely beyond a door. The captain heaves a sigh in relief and hesitantly lays a hand on the ornately crafted round knob. Paranoia spikes in his chest. What if it’s locked? What if it’s rigged to a system of alarms?

And what can he possibly expect beyond the door?

Hongjoong pauses, his hand warming the cool metal beneath it as he contemplates his next action. The worst-case-scenario of blaring alarms flashes in his head. His crew is smart enough to know they need to make a break for it if that happens. But where would they meet up? That’s assuming they can get out in the first place. Hongjoong gets the impression that Tierrohada’s people - Amagee’s, really - are very protective of their home. That’s why the place has managed to maintain such beauty and peace for centuries - or so the locals at the bar told him, more or less. They likely don’t take kindly to strange men trying to steal from their city’s beloved diplomat.

But how can he not turn the knob? After all of this time, this is the most promising prospect of theirs yet. Obviously, pursuing the Compass’s coordinates has risk. Hongjoong always understood that it wasn’t a possibility, but an inevitability. 

His hand moves without any more thought or prompting, and the golden knob squeaks softly as he turns it slowly. It gives, meaning that the door is unlocked. 

The captain lets out a shaky breath as he pushes the door open - just a sliver at first. He squints through the dark crack, hoping that maybe he can check it out just a bit. Nervousness thrums throughout his entire body, and his heartrate hastens. He can’t see anything through the crack - nor can he hear anything. The place appears empty - at least for now. Hongjoong opens the door further, and the light from the hall filters in through the cracked door, painting a stripe into the room beyond. Hongjoong makes out the unmistakeble shape of shelving and books. A study, perhaps?

Unable to hold back any longer, the captain lets himself in. He opens the door just enough to slip through and shuts it behind himself softly. He presses his back to it, allowing the initial shock to tide over. When he feels assured that he hasn’t tripped any alarms, he paws near the door to find a light panel. 

His fingertips graze something smooth, and light floods the area. Hongjoong winces, blinking rapidly as the sting in his eyes gradually subsides. He checks his beacon again. He’s nearly on top of the thing. 

“It’s gotta be in this room,” The captain whispers to himself. With the lights on, he can get a good look at the area. As the books implied, he’s in a study of sorts. The entire place is lined with bookshelves crafted out of warm wood and chock full of thick tomes that probably haven’t been opened in ages. It’s similar to the other lounge, really, save for the natural light. There’s a large, warm wood desk sitting in the middle with a leather chair hovering behind it. Velveteen chairs sit opposite the desk with a small table between. A few of the shelves behind the desk bore curios instead of books - hovering globes, carved dolls and other trinkets that probably mean more to people who know what the hell they are. The desk is fairly bare save for some very expensive looking pens and a PC console that doesn’t appear to get much use. 

Hongjoong eyes his beacon and begins checking the space. He paces along the bookshelves. Nothing really catches his eyes. There are a lot of history books and encyclopedias. It surprises him that such a conservation-conscious society would print paper books. He supposes it could be for propriety’s sake. Or perhaps whoever had initially decorated the space simply favored the physical sensation of turning a paper page. Most books growing up were digital for Hongjoong, fiber projections or flat, digital scrollers. He remembered one of his school teachers had a few paper books, though. She always instructed the kids to be very delicate with them. Hongjoong wasn’t particularly partial to them, but he did like the sound that a page turning made. The soft swipe always pleased him for some reason.

It’s funny the memories that come up with the littlest provocation.

Hongjoong checks the desk, wondering if that’s what had given the reading. There are a couple of drawers. The smell of dust kicks up as Joong pulls them open. He coughs as he rifles through their contents. There’s blank stationary and more pens. Someone must have really liked traditional stationary in the past. He turns around, frowning at the decor items behind the desk. It all looks like junk to him - and he’d know what junk looks like. He was literally a junker.

He wonders what possibly could’ve dinged the Compass.

When he goes to check his beacon again, just to be sure that he’d read his map correctly, he gasps.

The picture on the comm stutters and distorts uncontrollably.

“Oh, fuck-” Joong hisses under his breath. He taps the screen worriedly, praying that it’ll right itself, but it doesn’t. “Crap, crap, crap…” Joong bites on his bottom lip, staring at the thing distressedly in hopes that it rights itself. He walks across the room, ready to exit and call it a day, but then it stops.

Just as quickly as the thing had glitched, the image stabilizes, showing him his map yet again.

Hongjoong halts.

His brows knit together.

“Wait a minute…”

He crosses back over to the backside of the room again, heart pumping nervously in his chest. This time, he trains his gaze adamantly on his nav. When he reaches the desk, the picture blinks a few times. The closer he gets to the back wall, the more the interface bugs out. Icons flash across the feed and errors pop up until the picture is nothing more than a stuttering mess of jumbled pixels and flashing light.

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow curiously and checks the back wall again, “Is one of you doing this?” He asks the inanimate objects as if they can answer.

Joong sets the nav down and gets to work, checking everything - every little trinket and gadget. The globe is just that - a globe. The carved dolls are also unremarkable. There are tiny lion statues and spindly air plants floating in orbs. Some pieces are so abstract that they genuinely do look like mangled junk. Joong appreciates art, but he certainly doesn’t see the merit of the pieces. They don’t rouse any sort of relevance in his mind.

He slowly makes his way down one tall shelf and moves onto the next. There are wooden dolls, expensive, ornate pens, and colored glass spheres. Hongjoong frowns, flipping through a book of photographs. Nothing. Another floating globe, an hourglass, a floating helix… None of it seems out of the ordinary. 

Hongjoong’s hand stops on a glass cloche. He narrows his eyes at the thing, trying to figure out what the hell is beneath the bell. Perhaps it used to be a display piece of some kind, but the thick coating of dust over the cloche prevents anyone from actually seeing what’s inside.

The captain frowns, blowing roughly so he can see through it better. A cloud of dust flies into the air, but Joong still can’t see in. He rolls his eyes and groans.

“How long has it been since this thing has been dusted?” He mutters to himself. He flinches as he swipes a black sleeve across the thing, bemoaning the dirtying of a perfectly good shirt. It takes a few passes with his cuff to make out anything. When he can finally see through, he’s no less confused.

“The fuck…?” What he sees floating idly beneath the glass cover is…

  
A thing.

“Is this what people call art on this planet?” Joong mutters, trying to figure out what the hell the brassy, oblong object is. It appears thin, and it’s maybe the size of one of Hongjoong’s fingers, if that. It looks like something is carved into the surface, but the metal is so mottled (probably due to age) that Hongjoong can’t make it out. He can’t even tell if it’s lettering or numbers. The piece is, quite frankly, ugly, and Hongjoong can’t understand why one would wish to display it in the first place. Thinking on it more, he finds it odd that something like that can float on its own with no apparent power source. Of course, power banks can be microscopic nowadays, he muses. Maybe it’s newer than he thinks.

In spite of how plain the nick-nack is, Hongjoong can’t tear his eyes away from it. It’s simplicity makes it all the more mysterious, and the more he stares at it, the more familiar it feels. But why? He’s never seen anything like it in his life. It’s not as if the object has any points of captivation.

Recognition sparks in the captain’s head, igniting the realization that he understands why it appears so familiar.

But it can’t be.

  
Can it?

The mottled, brassy metal.

The indiscernible, intricate carving.

Is it a missing piece of the Compass?

Thrill flares in Hongjoong’s chest, and he yanks his comm out, stepping away to desperately tap at it.

** _hongjoong_ **: yeosang

** _yeosang_ **: oh hello captain

** _yeosang_ **: do you need something?

** _hongjoong_ **: i do

** _hongjoong_ **: wait let me take a picture 

** _hongjoong_ **: just a second let me see if i can

** _yeosang_ **: oh you’re going to try out the picture feature?

** _yeosang_ **: ｡^‿^｡

** _hongjoong_ **: yeah!

** _hongjoong_ **: by the way, how are things with those two

** _yeosang_ **: i heard yelling earlier, but it’s quieted down.

** _yeosang_ **: i did not want to interrupt （／_＼）

** _hongjoong_ **: no that’s good

** _hongjoong_ **: i hope they work things out

** _yeosang_ **: me too

Joong runs back to the piece to dust off the cloche until it’s clear. Unfortunately, being near the thing destabilizes his comm. He backs up the minimum distance he can to operate the messanger and snaps a picture of the piece floating idly. 

** _hongjoong_ **: does this look like a piece of the compass to you

** _yeosang_ **: Σ(゜゜)

** _yeosang_ **: i have a schematic model on my pc give me a second

Hongjoong bites his thumb anxiously as he awaits the other’s message. His gaze shifts between the piece and his comm. Wooyoung’s theory flashes through his head. What if the Compass genuinely is trying to right itself? To get back all of the components it needs to operate properly? “Updating its drivers” - as Wooyoung put it.

** _yeosang_ **: (☼Д☼)

** _hongjoong_ **: ??

** _hongjoong_ **: is that a good face?!

Joong’s eyes widen as he leers down at the screen like a hawk

** _yeosang_ **: im shaking

** _yeosang_ **: captain you’re right

** _yeosang_ **: that’s one of the missing pieces

** _yeosang_ **: it slots in here

An image of Yeosang’s model pops up on screen with a scribbled red arrow pointing to one of the Compass’s many unoccupied slots. The peculiar, oblong hollow matches perfectly with the shape of the piece floating inside the cloche.

** _hongjoong_ **: im gonna swipe it

** _yeosang_ **: be careful

Hongjoong heaves a deep sigh and reaches toward the cloche. He shudders when his fingertips make contact with the cool glass, paranoid. What if there’s some security linked to it? What’s going to happen when he lifts the thing? What if sirens start going off? What if something in it destabilizes and causes an explosion?

  
Swallowing down his worries, the captain grips the whirling glass handle atop the globe and lifts it. Sweat clams up his palm, making the glass slippery in his grip as he slowly pulls the glass away. 

“Okay,” Hongjoong murmurs to himself. “That’s a good Compass piece. No alarms. No flames. Just take it easy now…” He pulls the glass back until the piece is finally free of its confines. Cautiously, the captain reaches for the floating brass node. His fingers graze the cool metal, feeling the deep carvings and worn surface. Unfortunately, it slides out from his grip.

“Fuck,” Joong mutters, wipinig his sweaty palms on his pants. He tries again, this time grabbing more quickly, and he clumsily bumps the piece, making it drift slightly toward it. When the captain’s hand moves to grasp it again, he somehow slams his finger straight into the shelf.

“Son of a- mmmmmmhhhh-” Hongjoong clamps his mouth shut, smothering about a hundred curses as the throbbing pain runs up his digits. He glances toward the piece, and his eyes widen in horror as the apparent force of his bumping into the shelf jostles it.

The piece floats forward, freeing itself of the shelf’s barriers and then it shoots up. No longer tethered by whatever forces its confines had kept it in place, the tiny metal thing flies up, up, up until it’s all the way up in the middle of the ceiling.

“No,” Hongjoong gasps. “No.”

He eyes the desk, knowing damn well it won’t give him the elevation needed to get the damn thing. The chairs across the massive slab of mahogany look heavy, but putting them on top of the desk seems to be his best hope. Or they would be if the piece was in the vicinity of the desk. But it’s not. It’s just ever so slightly off in the middle of the room, far away from any shelves he could climb or any bulky furniture he could stack.

This, Hongjoong realizes, is gonna be a problem.

“Motherfuc-”

* * *

“-Her contributions to Tierrohada’s budding artisan economy are practically innumerable,” Ambassador Soojin beams as she waxes poetic about her city’s history. She delicately sips from her porcelain tea cup and flashes Mingi - no, Minki - a sweet grin.

Yunho shifts uncomfortably in his seat next to the fake-diplomat. A variety of factors contribute to his overall state of massive discomfort. There’s the ambassador - Ambassador Soojin. The second she stepped into the room, stunned silence hushed the group.

Soojin is, to put it simply, beautiful. To put it less simply, she’s perhaps the prettiest lady Yunho had ever set eyes on. She came in wearing a sophisticated, off-shoulder wrap dress made out of some silky material that Yunho’s pretty sure costs more than his life savings (well it would - if he had life savings). Her raven hair falls perfectly in waves, and the dangling earrings adorning her lobes twinkle prettily in the light. While her entire face is gorgeous, most notable is her plush lips which are painted in a bold red color. Everything about the woman screams elegant and expensive - all the while her nature is surprisingly sweet and her smile disarming. Her gorgeousness is impossible to not notice, and it sets Yunho on edge basking in the woman’s presence. Of course, he’s not the only one basking.

  
Mingi is, too. Right next to Yunho on the prettiful couch sits the prince, and he’s got no trace of the usually laid-back Mingi that Yunho knows. The Venusian is in full royalty mode. He’s all big smiles and bigger words, effortlessly conversing with the Ambassador, spinning story after story and glowing as he does so.

Which leads to the third, most excrutiating point of all.

While Yunho looks the part of Venusian assistant-advisor (or whatever they’d deemed him), he sure as hell doesn’t feel it. Mingi and Soojin lost him about two sentences into their buzzword laden conversation about “education” and “youth” and “cultural sharing”. Sure, he picks up bits here and there, but the entire thing is above him.

Mingi is above him.

Spending time with the Venusian in his genuine element - doing what he’d been raised and trained to do - it makes Yunho confront the fact that, wow, he sure as hell is not from the same world as Mingi. Not from the same world, planet, hell, universe as Mingi. Yunho finnicks with his cuticles as the two go on and on, laughing, sipping tea and exchanging stories.

Mingi talked about the “deconservativation” of Venus and how he and his peers wish to usher in a new era of carefully curated exchange. Soojin talked about how she, too, advocated for the discovery of cultures outside of the realm of the Coalition’s formative hubs and settlements. Yunho nibbled on a biscuit.

Jongho, all the while, has been the perfect picture of a guard, statue-still and stoic. When Yunho looked to the youngest for some kind of nonverbal moral support, he got nothing but a man who appeared to have fallen asleep standing up. Figures. Yunho bets that the younger one probably understands everything they’re saying, anyway. He probably wouldn’t find much comfort in that.

“To be honest, I envy that about your society,” Mingi comments. “Venus - at least my home region of Neith - is very traditional. While I do respect and appreciate our longstanding loyalty to our schools of design and artistry, it leaves little room for anyone new or independent to break into the public. We could learn so much from you.”

“Stop it, you flatter us,” Soojin giggles daintily. “Now, isn’t something like this quite unprecedented for you all?” Yunho catches the Venusian’s grin widen next to him, and the canis shrinks under the feeling of inadequacy steadily weighing him down more and more.

“Upsetting the status quo is, in part, what I wish to accomplish in reaching out,” Mingi replies with confidence. “I find the openness of your people immensely refreshing. I feel as if there should be something disruptive about this sort of cultural exchange, no? I want fellow students to come here and have their worldviews changed.”

The Ambassador’s flawless brows raise in surprise at the supposed diplomat’s bold response. Her lips quirk up with admiration. Just as she parts her lips to respond, her secretary, Minnie steps in and whispers something. Probably wedding business, Yunho thinks. Soojin nods before turning back to Mingi with a grin. Minnie remains, standing behind the couch and clutching her tablet like one would a small purse.

“You must be considered quite radical among your peers,” Soojin responds coolly.

“Well, what point is there in studying abroad if not to discover other worlds?”

  
  
  
  


“Oh-” Soojin’s attention gets interrupted briefly as an estate attendant of sorts scuttles in and taps her on the shoulder. The mousey girl whispers something and Soojin nods. “Yes, that’ll do,” She whispers. Her staffer walks off (not before getting a likely chiding whisper from Minnie), and the ambassadors smiles apologetically. “I’m so sorry about the interruption. I’m very happy to be meeting with you, but you’ve caught me in a fairly busy time.”

Mingi starts, “I apologize, once again-”

“No need,” Soojin holds a hand up. “It’s truly a pleasure. It’s just that I’m also hosting my friend’s engagement party this evening. Perhaps you saw her walking in? Miss Yuqi?”

“She was teaching the class, yes?”

“Correct,” The black-haired beauty nods. “She’s marrying her beau Lucas.” She clutches her heart. “I don’t usually take to people like him, but Lucas is different. They make a wonderful couple. We’re so happy for her. I insisted on hosting her engagement festivities.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Mingi replies. 

Yunho’s brows raise at the “people like him” statement. Does she mean “people like him” as in men? Or something different? He’s surprised she’d drop something like that when conversing with a potential partner for some… Diplomatic whatever. Then again, Yunho recalls he’s far from a diplomat or aristocrat or whatever the pair of them are considered. Perhaps it’s not out of decorum after all.

“Love is beautiful,” Soojin says with a smile. Her eyes twinkle, and Yunho feels his stomach turn. Are her eyes twinkling at Mingi? Is she twinkling for Mingi? Is she? After just meeting him? Initially, the expression strikes Yunho as supsicious. Then he remembers that he damn near slept with Mingi within hours of meeting him and suspends judgment. Yunho supposes that, yeah, Song Mingi is someone who inspires twinkling in a person. He’s handsome and funny and kind and clever.

“It’s worth celebrating,” Soojin says. “Tell me, your excellency, do you have a loved one on Venus?”

Mingi, ever the imposter, doesn’t miss a beat, “On Venus, no. Our culture is actually quite stringent in regards to the institution of marriage.” His smile softens into something almost wistful. Damn, he’s good.

“I can only imagine given how traditional it is.”

“Yes. Marriage is often predetermined by the family among those of higher ranks. Even outside of the aristocracy people tend to marry within their circles, so to speak. It is… Different, but it assures a sort of security for family lines and communities. Or so the logic is, I believe.” He shrugs.

“May I be so bold as to ask what _ you _believe, your excellency?” Soojin asks, quirking a brow. It’s a probing question, probably something to gauge their cultural fit, another demonstration of just how protective Tierrohada’s people are of their culture.

“What I believe?” Mingi maintains his courteous smile though his assured visage ever so slightly wavers. “About marriage?”

“Yes,” The Ambassador replies coolly, sipping her tea primly. “Do you believe an arranged marriage is ideal? Does it assure the security of communities and family relations?”

This puts Mingi in a tricky spot, Yunho realizes. Wouldn’t it reflect badly on the diplomat to completely speak against his people and their culture? But if he agrees with them, that’d make him look bad in their eyes, too. After all, Tierrohada is a very open-minded haven. Yunho saw couples and trios of all sorts holding hands and gazing lovingly at one another on their walk to the estate.

“I don’t think my personal beliefs are of relevance here.”

“No? What happens when one of your ilk cares for a person to whom they aren’t betrothed? Are they truly denied a fulfilling, happy marriage?”

“Marriage is different on Venus. It’s not something people necessarily do for love. It is regarded more as a…” He bites his plush lower lip and looks up in thought. “It’s a functional institution.”

“So people have side pieces is what you’re saying,” Minnie remarks crassly, out of nowhere. Yunho’s mouth drops open and his eyes widen. Did she really just say that? Isn’t she supposed to, like, not speak out of turn?  


Mingi, equally as surprised, takes the comment in stride, “It’s not uncommon for there to be extramarital relations, true.”

“And what about you?” Soojin cuts back in. Her prettily painted lips tug down ever so slightly. “What would you do if you found someone you cared about that wasn’t approved by your kin?”

“Me?” Mingi lets out a wry laugh.

“Would you advocate for them?”

“That is quite a personal hypothetical, Ambassador,” The Venusian’s ears tint pink, and the canis gets the distinct feeling that something is off.

“Would you jump off a balcony for them?” The secretary Minnie interjects again.

Yunho’s stomach drops onto the floor. He glances at Jongho who, while maintaining his composure, tenses significantly. Mingi determinedly keeps his confident veneer.

“I’m sorry?” He asks, nose scrunching as if humored by such a strange question.

“Oh my god,” Minnie groans, rolling her smoked eyes. “You can drop the act, your majesty. We’ve got you on tape.” She taps a button on her tablet, and suddenly dozens of projection viewports crop up behind her and the ambassador.

Yunho’s mouth, which had already been open as is, drops onto the floor. Holy shit. A plethora of articles and newsreels scroll across the myriad screens. ATEEZ’s escape from Venus plays out from almost every angle possible. Yunho can’t even begin to comprehend the articles - most of which are, in fact, written in Venusian. The ones he can read are vague and clipped. One particularly provocative, tabloid-esque one in the universal language reads: “PRINCE MINGI’S HIGH FLYING ADVENTURE: RESCUED BY REX?”. Though he’d love to be bitter about being given the moniker Rex, Yunho can’t dwell on the annoyance. They’ve been had. They are fucked. Royally fucked.

Mingi’s act drops in a second, and his already fair face pales as he scans the screens before him. Writings range from conspiratorial to solemn. A few brand the prince as a missing person, and one of the captioned newsreels features a broken-hearted speech from the royal family, begging the “monsters” who’d stolen their son to “bring him back”.

“It’s not every day a Venusian arrives on our doorstep,” Ambassador Soojin says bluntly. “And nobody ever demand an immediate audience. Did you think we wouldn’t do our homework? I had Minnie check up on you being that she is my Secretary and she’s the best at what she does.”

“Secretary of Security,” Minnie chimes in pridefully, her lips spread into a wide grin. She tucks her tablet beneath her arm and claps loudly, summoning a dozen guards in through the door. The women in uniform line the wall with the door, barring the crew from the only legitimate exit. Yunho frowns and clutches his hands together nervously in his lap. They’re cornered.

“Wait-!” Mingi drops the act immediately, voice desperate and concerned. “That’s all a lie. I am not a captured or missing person, okay? I- I left willingly!”

“Your majesty,” Soojin says, “You’re in a safe place. If these men are a threat, just say the word.” She nods to Yunho and Jongho. Yunho freezes, and Jongho glares back at her with offense. Them? Dangerous? They’re not the ones with a armed guards blocking the door!

“These men are honorable!” Mingi insists, reaching out and grabbing one of Yunho’s hands. The anxious canis’s heart flips, and he whirls from the sudden contact. If he wasn’t nervous about, well, everything, he’d be completely thrilled. Instead, he’s just mostly thrilled.

“Those men are fugitives,” Minnie fires back. With another tap on her tablet, screens with mugshots crop up in a line.

“They were framed by the Coalition,” Mingi responds. “None of them are criminals-” He eyes Wooyoung’s portrait. “Most of them aren’t criminals. They’re not dangerous. I promise, nobody is a threat- right, guys?”

“Wh-” “Uh, yeah.” Jongho and Yunho murmur weakly in response.

The Ambassador heaves a sigh and waves toward her secretary, prompting the other authority to make all of the screens disappear. Soojin then nods to her guards, and the majority of them exit save for two. Tucking black, curly locks behind her ear, she rightens her posture again and regards the men on the couch.

“Listen,” Soojin starts in a low tone. “I understand just how harmful the paradigm of traditional, power-hungry, money-driven patriarchal society can be. I know I am so, so lucky to have been born here, in such a wonderful place rich in culture and kindness. I’m sorry you can’t say the same.”

“It’s… It’s fine,” Mingi mutters, swiping a thumb over the back of Yunho’s hand. The humecanis tries to ignore the static sizzling sensation that he leaves in the spot.

“Your majesty, you seem like a bright, kindhearted individual. I wanted to meet you to get a sense of your character, and I’m actually quite surprised by the impression you’ve made. You… Could have a place here.”

“What?”

“After consideration, I would like to extend you an invitation to take asylum here, in Tierrohada. As we discussed - even if in a charade - there are many things we can learn from one another. I’ve no doubt you could take a role as a scholar’s apprentice and eventually teach about Venus, your home.”

“Wait- You mean you won’t- you won’t tell on us?” The Venusian asks timidly.

Soojin frowns and presses her lips together, “You can stay, your majesty. Not them.”

“Wait- What?”

“We are not an independent planet. We cannot harbor fugitives wanted by the Coalition. Our status as allied is incredibly delicate. The Coalition would love to take us as their own, but we can’t allow that. A single slip-up can cost us our home.”

“Well, then I-”

Another attendant, a different one, strides in and taps the diplomat on the shoulder. Soojin’s brow furrows and she leans in to hear the person’s fervent whispers. Rolling her eyes, she stands up, straightening her silky dress.

“I apologize, your majesty,” Soojin says. “If you could please excuse me for just a few minutes. Why not take time to consider my offer?” She nods to her secretary out the door with her. The guards, however, remain.

Mingi crosses his arms adamantly, “I’m not gonna do it.”

Yunho frowns, and his tail sags onto the couch, “Wait a minute, Mingi-”

“Wait a minute what?” Mingi pouts.

The humecanis sighs nervously as dejection sinks into his heart, “Mingi, maybe you should consider it.”

He hates to say it, but it’s the truth. Yunho is the last person who would want to see Mingi go, but he can’t help thinking about the places they’ve been together. They nearly got blown up on sight at BH, and they barely escaped the warship alive. Mingi isn’t like the rest of them. No, he’s not helpless, but he’s not some hardened thug, either. Tierrohada is safe, and Yunho wants Mingi to be safe. The Venusian sure as hell can relate to the people. They all seem so cultured and smart. Mingi would probably get sick of ATEEZ’s crew after awhile, anyway - if he hasn’t already.

“What?!” The Venusian huffs, outraged. “Yunho, what are you talking about?”

“Just think about it. It’s safe here and- and nice. You’d probably make friends really easily. I mean, you and the Ambassador were really going on about education and stuff.”

“What are you saying?”

“Mingi, this place is good for you. It’s full of- of people like you who are smart and classy and scholarly.”

“Am I that much of a burden?” The Venusian’s flare of anger fizzles out, giving way to an expression of dejection. 

“Wh- Mingi, no, that’s not what it is-!”

“Then what is it? How come you wanna get rid of me so bad then? I can be more useful, you know-”

“Mingi this isn’t about how useful you are. I- Jongho, help me out here,” Yunho pleads with the youngest.

“Messaging the stylist,” Jongho says flatly, eyes not leaving his communicator. So much for his support.

“Listen,” Yunho tries to sort his thoughts out. “I- Mingi, I don’t like seeing you in danger all the time. Of course you’re useful and important, but- but your importance isn’t more important than your wellbeing- am I making sense?”

“K-Kind of?” At least Mingi’s offense appears smoothed out. 

“I just want you to be happy and safe,” Yunho finally says. “We can’t assure that with the way we’re going, but if you’re here-”

“I might be safe,” Mingi cuts the other off, “But I won’t be happy.” He squeezes Yunho’s hand sweetly.

“Oh my god, get a fucking _ room _,” Jongho groans.

The canis and Venusian snicker, faces flushing with embarrassment, and their hands return to their laps. 

Yunho coughs, embarrassedly and chokes out, “So, um, what’d the captain say?”

Jongho responds, “Says the good news is he-” His eyes dart to the guard, and he coughs, “-he found his shit.”

“He what?!” “What did you say?” The two on the couch shout at the same time.

Jongho looks at them pointedly, repeating, “He found his shit.”

Yunho’s face scrunches with confusion, “He… He-”

“He _ went to the bathroom _ ,” The brunette says insistently, gaze deliberately shifting to the guards, “and _ found _his shit.”

Oh.

It’s code.

Realization dawns upon Yunho in a shamefully sluggish pace, but when he gets it, he nods and winks at Jongho. He ignores the youngest’s very obvious urge to strangle him and flashes a thumbs up of affirmation.

“Good for him,” Yunho nods. “Shitting again. After… Not shitting.”

“But he couldn’t… Flush it,” Jongho says.

“He took a dump but he couldn’t flush it?” Mingi asks, surprisingly the last to catch on.

“He’s coming back here,” Jongho replies, ignoring the Venusian’s ignorance.

“Wait- Did he send you a picture of the dump?” The noble asks.

“No. He did not send me a picture of his shit. Why would he do that?”

“Well, if it’s impressive,” Mingi shrugs. Yunho snorts. That’s him, the Mingi he knows and loves. But definitely doesn’t _ love _love because it’s way too soon for that but maybe he low key gets vibes that maybe in the future.

“Sorry about that,” Soojin glides in gracefully, Minnie in tow. “Once again, I reiterate: party prep. I swear, it’s almost more demanding than my normal day to day duties. Now, your majesty,” She takes a seat on the couch again, this time Minnie joining her as well. “Have you considered my offer?”

“I have,” Mingi says, putting on a more formal air, “And I’m going to have to decline. These people are my family. I know the Coalition has them sleighted as criminals, but surely you understand how they can manipulate things. I’m not going anywhere without them. So, if the offer can only extend to me, then, I have to say no.”

Yunho’s heart swells. Though he’s slightly dismayed that the other will likely get himself in danger again, he can’t help feeling glad the other ultimately chose him. Well, them, obviously (but also him because he is a part of them).

“I thought you might say so,” Soojin nods, smiling wryly. “I admire and respect your loyalty to your family, your majesty. And I am truly sorry that your only avenue of escape from that predetermined marriage was the one you took. That being said, as you are loyal to your family, I am loyal to mine. The people of Tierrohada and by extension Amagee are my family, and your collective’s presence here is a danger to that. I need you off this planet tonight.”

“Wh- Tonight?” Mingi balks.

“That ought to be enough time for you all to collect yourselves.”

“Wait, so, like, you mean-”

“Tonight, your majesty. The dockyard is patrolled at all hours, so we’ll be alerted upon your departure. If your vessel hasn’t left the atmosphere by morning, there will be consequences.”

Mingi nods with a frown, “Very well, then. I apologize for any inconvenience we’ve caused you.”

“Thank you for understanding,” The Ambassador says.

It’s in that moment that the captain finally decides to breeze in. All eyes shoot to him, and the ash-blond’s dark eyes widen.

“S-Sorry,” He coughs. “I was just- In the bathroom. Doing… Bathroom… ” Jongho pinches the bridge of his nose while Mingi’s face distorts with the effort of supressing his laughter.

The raven-haired diplomat makes no comment on his sudden entrance, “Well, now that you’ve gathered, I can bid all of you farewell. The guards will see you out. Good luck, your majesty.”

“Thank you, Ambassador,” Mingi says. The others murmur nervous goodbyes before they’re ushered out by the two who’d been guarding the door. The group’s walk back to the gate is on pins and needles, strained with nerves and worry. Their trek to the ship isn’t much better. Though there aren’t any people in uniform walking the streets, Yunho can’t help but feel different - like he’s being watched.

  


* * *

Hongjoong wrings a hand through his hair, frustration stewing in his gut. It’s there. It’s right there. He knows exactly where the piece is, and inspecting the Compass again, he sees precisely where it will slot in.

But he couldn’t get it before they ran out of luck.

“So what are we gonna do?” Yunho asks from his perch on Yeosang’s workbench. The captain divulged his findings to everyone once they boarded the ship, and they’ve been scratching their heads ever since.

“Well, we just have to get in there, right?” Jongho asks. “Like, it’s not like the place was secure.”

“I don’t think we can just walk in,” Mingi says. “For one, the door is guarded.”

“As is,” Yunho adds, “The dockyard patrols are watching us like hawks. They know we’re here and they expect us to leave really soon.”

“You really couldn’t get it?” Yeosang asks with a frown from his computer chair. 

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Joong’s heart dips with guilt at the cyborg’s sad little pout. “I fucked up. I didn’t think it would- it would fly all the way up to the ceiling.” The captain’s gaze flees the other’s as shame bubbles up from his gut.

He fucked up badly.

Grabbing that piece should’ve been nothing. He had it. But he was too fucking excited and just went for it like a feral dog going for a hunk of meat. He had the perfect chance. If he’d just taken his fucking time. Another wave of dread washes over him. He grits his teeth and steels himself as the ugly feeling roils in his gut.

He can’t think about it, he reminds himself. Yes, he fucked up, but they have to focus on moving forward.

“There’s that party tonight,” Hongjoong says, searching the faces of his crew for ideas or reassurance. He’s happy to take either - or both. “The Ambassador will be busy.”

“And the security will probably be even tighter,” Mingi responds.

“You don’t know that for sure, though,” Jongho says. “The security could be allocated differently. The party’s in some courtyard, right? Maybe it’ll be concentrated there.”

“I mean, the place is big,” Yunho says. “They can’t effectively cover all of that, can they?”

“Why not? Seems like they had plenty of people to sic on us before,” Mingi replies.

“Hey-” Hongjoong cuts in. “I’ll be right back. I think Wooyoung and San have had enough time out, yeah?”

“Oh, right,” Yeosang responds. “Yeah, they were yelling a long time ago, but they’ve been quiet for awhile. I snuck a peek later and they were napping together, so I think they’re okay.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders sag with relief. Finally, something goes right.

“That’s good to hear.” “Oh thank god.” “Finally.” The others comment.

The captain waves and leaves the rest to brainstorming. Even though Yeosang assured him that the two crew members are fine, Joong still gets a shudder when he crosses the threshold. 

Just as Yeosang said: it’s quiet. Almost eerily so. Hongjoong’s steps echo down the metal hallway as he approaches their cell. He peers between the bars hesitantly, and relief dampens his worry when he witnesses the two snoozing away for himself. The captain punches in the door’s code, and it slides open with a soft sound.

“Hey,” Hongjoong says quietly. “You two.”

San is the first to stir, face wrinkling as he transitions into semi-wakefulness. The siren blinks the blear of sleep out of his eyes before regarding his captain.

“Mn… Joong?”

“You’re free to go,” The captain says.

“We’re free?” The siren responds sleepily. He throws his arms up and mutters, “Yay.” The motion rouses Wooyoung who stretches languidly as he arises.

“Whatsup?” The human slurs, hair mussed from the nap. It takes him a prolonged moment to comprehend the situation. His brows raise, pleased, when he sees his captain standing in the open doorway to their cell. “Ah- We’re out of jail.”

“Yeah, c’mon and join the thinktank.”

“Thinktank?” Wooyoung asks confusedly as he sets up and swings his legs over the edge of the cot. 

“Yeah, we’ve gotta think of a way to break into the diplomat’s estate.”

“I thought you already did that,” He replies, rubbing his eyes.

“Uh… Yeah, well, there’ve been some… Developments, so.”

“Alright,” Woo shrugs, standing up with a yawn. He grabs San be the wrist, dragging him off of the bed and out of the cell past Joong. “Time to go think…” He mutters.

Hongjoong smiles fondly as the two disappear through the door. He follows after them, but something stops him. An oppressive feeling strikes him all of a sudden, and he halts in his tracks.

He can feel them.

Bright blue eyes boring into his back.

What do they say now?

He ponders. Are they narrowed in resentment? Are his brows furrowed deep in anger? Or are they wet, reddened and desperate? Pleading and mirthless? Hongjoong can’t bear to find out. He exits the brig without sparing the other a glance.

When he emerges, the pressure on him alleviates, and his mind quickly shifts back to what’s on his mind: the Compass - and how to get it’s piece. 

“-hy not?”

“They may look like drones to you, but to me they’re babies!” “They are not babies, Yeosang.” “Are, too!” “D’you think we could somehow find a contact who’s a local and compensate them for grabbing it?” “That’s way too risky!”

Ideas fire back and forth, ranging from violent (“I can take them.” “Jongho you cannot take a hundred guards on at once.” “I think I could-”) to borderline terrorism (“It’s just going to make them sleep-” “That is biological weaponry, Yeosang.” “It’s just a sleepytime gas-” “You are gonna ruin her engagement party!”). The crew slouches around the cyborg’s work station, unable to come to a favorable conclusion.

Jongho groans, draping himself across one of Yeosang’s hovertrays, “Okay, well, it’s not like we can just waltz in unnoticed, guys, they have our mug shots.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Mingi retorts. “I’m just saying that they seemed sympathetic. Maybe if we explained the full situation-”

“She wanted us off of her planet in hours, though,” Hongjoong says. “Plus how would we even contact her? We’re under heavy watch now. I’ve seen a guard pass by our ramp like three times in the past hour.”

“Maybe one of us can get past her,” Mingi shrugs.

“And how, exactly, would we do that?” Jongho says. “Even if we somehow managed to get out of the dockyard, we stick out like sore thumbs. Ugh.” The youngest wrings a hand over his face. “If only one of us was a girl - or at least as pretty as one. Then we could blend in, sneak right in there, and snatch it during that party.” The prospect pulls a much needed laugh out of the stressed out crew.

Yeosang snickers, “That’d be ridiculous.”

  
Suddenly, the crew goes silent. Hongjoong’s grin falls at the cyborg’s words. He realizes: Yeosang is the only one who hasn’t stepped foot in Tierrohada. He doesn’t have a stamp, nor does he have a mugshot. Also…

He _ is _rather pretty.

The cogs in Hongjoong’s head start turning, and when he glances across the crew, he can see they’re all thinking the same thing.

Yeosang’s amused grin falls when he picks up on the room’s vibe, “Wh- No. No, you’re not- you’re not seriously thinking-” He chuckles nervously.

It’s too late, though. All eyes are on him. Hongjoong is already thinking of clothes he can reform into something that emphasizes Yeosang’s more feminine lines. He wonders if there’s a way to procure something wig-like, or if they can chemically treat ultrathin wire to simulate hair fiber for a wig. He wonders if Wooyoung can spare some makeup to doll up the fair cyborg extra pretty.

“Oh-” Yeosang shakes his head, utter betrayal written on his face. “Oh no. No, no, no, no, _ no _.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // WARNING: this chapter contains molestation, touch without consent, sexual harassment, non-explicit sexual assault (as in it is technically SFW, non-explicit content), groping

Yeosang tenses, slotting himself beneath the starboard flank’s thruster and peeking out cautiously. ATEEZ’s loading ramp is down, and standing at the bottom of it with perturbed looks are Yunho and San. The sun’s set, and the warm lights of the dockyard cast long, inky shadows across the paths between ships. Two particularly bulky shadows pass by, and Yeo strains to hear what they’re saying.

“What’s going on here?” One of the women - a guard, Yeosang guesses - asks brusquely. He squints, and from his narrow view he just barely sees the canis placing his hands on his hips.

“What do you mean?”

“This ship is to leave the atmosphere immediately.”

“Actually,” Yunho says, “We were told we had until morning.” Yeo can’t see the guard’s face, but he imagines she’s wearing a dirty look at the patronizing tone.

“Just because you have until morning doesn’t mean you ought to wait until morning,” She responds tersely.

“We’re having ship trouble,” Yunho says. He turns to the siren who’s bent over one of the loading ramp’s hydraulic pipes. “Right, San?”

“Uh, yes. Lots of trouble. We can’t quite figure out the… Landing,” The siren adds. Yeo suppresses a groan, burying his face in his palm. They probably shouldn’t have chosen the siren of all people to participate in the charade.

After thrusting the role of petty (and pretty) thief onto Yeosang, the crew concocted a little plan to make a diversion. San and Yunho volunteered to make a show of “fixing ship troubles” while Yeosang snuck out and about. He sent out a couple of his drones via ground to scout out any weak spots in the barrier, and much to his surprise, the majority of the dockyard is cordoned off by nothing but a conventional physical fence. (Either that, or their barrier tech is undetectable by his scans - he really hopes it isn’t that.) 

Hongjoong quickly got to work, sewing miscellaneous clothes together into a surprisingly decent looking dress. It’s white - comprised of a few cottony shirts pulled from a couple of closets - with straps and a bodice that dips in at his waist, affixed to which is an a-line skirt that just barely grazes the ground. (Yeo hopes nobody notices the heavy boots under the delicate, white garment.) The captain’s work shocked the cyborg - he managed to make the white on white patchwork look like an intentional design feature as opposed to rushed splicing. His only accessories are the piercings he already has and a silky ribbon they swiped from one of Wooyoung’s shirts and tied in a bow around the cyborg’s neck.

With the outfit sorted, Yeo and Mingi played with ways to replicate a more effeminate hairstyle, Yeosang ultimately opted for a small cloaking node. He figured nobody would be touching his hair, anyway. The holographic waves dip slightly beneath his shoulder and blend in seamlessly with his real tresses. Wooyoung used makeup and a few other tricks he’d apparently picked up from friends at the bars he worked at. (“Just rub the cinnamon-oil mix for a few minutes and rinse it!” “We can make this look bigger with some glow…”) Though Yeosang thought himself a fairly adequate girl, San even opted to step in, correcting his gait and posture to have more “neutralizing, demure energy”. Yeosang didn’t assume he walked with any particular “energy” but he supposed that quantum sciences had never been his favorite. For his last bit of preparation, the cyborg crafted a replica of the Compass piece to replace the real one. Thankfully, the oblong scrap of metal slots snugly beneath the bustier of his dress. If only Hongjoong had more time to sew in some pockets, the cyborg lamented as he awkwardly slipped his comm beneath the waistband of his underwear. Feeling a smidge breezier than he’s used to, he poised himself to sneak off in lieu of his shipmates’ distraction.

“Well, you best get it sorted,” Another guard barks at the two humanoids feigning hopeless confusion at the state of the ship.

“It won’t be more than five… Maybe six hours,” Yunho responds.

“Five or six,” San nods in affirmation.

For a second, Yeosang tenses, worried they’ll see right through the canis and siren’s pitiful act. Thankfully, they seem to know nothing about the affairs of keeping a ship afloat and simply sulk off a few minutes later. Shoulders sagging with relief, Yeosang plods in the opposite direction, clinging to shadows and weaving between ships. He constantly checks over his shoulder, heart thrumming in his chest anxiously. 

After what feels like eons, he reaches the back fence. It’s high - four and a half meters high, to be precise. Ivy twirls between the wrought, brassy posts. Each post is topped with a razor sharp pike. The soft sound of water lapping at the steep, rocky bank trickles into Yeosang’s ears. Beyond the fence there’s little else to behond than murky, black waters far as the eye can see. Yeosang figures that’s on purpose. What kind of an idiot would jump the fence? The slippery slope that recedes into the dark waters isn’t even a meter wide. With the steady upkick of the tide, all it takes is one wrong move to get dragged into the cold current. Yeosang has no idea what lurks beneath those depths - nor does he have any intention of finding out.

Yeosang hesitantly extends his left hand - his mechanical hand - toward the fence. He toggles his vision going through thermal, data and auric sensors. Nothing out of the ordinary presents itself, and he gingerly touches the metal. The cool sensation runs up his fingerprints, causing goosebumps to pock the skin covering his natural body. He bites his lip, stepping back to do a more spatial analysis. The stylised posts of the fence curl and whirl about, and ivy leaves climb up the railings, stretching between them and draping over every floral flair carved into the artful barrier. Yeosang wonders if they’d intended to create footholds so inviting. The fence is almost too tempting, too easy. Yet none of his scans bore any information that contradicted it being anything other than ordinary.

The cyborg takes a deep breath and grasps a post with his metal hand.

Nothing happens. No shock is delivered, no explosion, no burning on contact or alarms going off. Yeosang carefully scales the fence, using his non-augmented hand to hold his skirt up and away from all the dirt, grime, and jagged edges that could possibly mar the garment that Hongjoong manically slaved over for two hours. The climb to the top rail is methodical and feels sluggish. Eventually, he reaches the top rail. Carefully, he grasps one of the pointed pikes to balance himself and eyes the path of descent. 

The cyborg takes a moment to collect himself and simply studies the landscape. Behind him sits the dockyard - row upon row of ships varying in size to speed-econ cruisers to sizable cruise vessels. ATEEZ is somewhere there, he figures, but a few too-large hulls block his view of his ship. They also block the view of the single watch tower - a short structure in the middle of the entire place - just as he’d planned. In front of him, the black depths of the water stretch to the horizon, seemingly endless. From what he’d discerned from intel, there’s another city across the water. However, given that Amagee’s sun has long finished its dip below the horizon, all Yeosang sees is black nothingness flecked with little stars. Yeosang traces his path - down the fence, along the bank to the east for about a half kilometer and then finally into an alleyway. 

He steels himself, allowing another minute of peace before starting his descent. While many would feel unsteady on the shifty pebbles of the bank, Yeosang strides confidently, more concerned with the hem of his skirt than his balance. A perk of having a cybernetic augment as opposed to flesh is the wealth of possibilities in regards to the augment’s capabilities. While Yeosang has no doubt he’s capable of outfitting his augments with extraordinary features, for this particular gig he opted to utilize something less showy. Sticking his augmented arm out, he hovers his hand above the fence’s railing, activating electromagnetic attraction in his limb to keep himself upright. It’s a trifle, really, and Yeosang wonders how the security of Tierrohada managed to make such a large oversight. Perhaps they’re haughty, he muses. Or perhaps they have little incentive to keep people out.

Yeosang ruminates on their reasoning as he sidles along the wet, pebbley bank until finally reaching solid ground. The cyborg happily hops into the alley between two neighboring buildings and toggles his vision as he ducks behind a trash recepticle. Thermal reads two small clusters of heat. Small critters, most likely. Save for that, Yeosang doesn’t detect any people, vehicles, or major machinery in the vicinity. Given that tourist curfew isn’t for another few hours, Yeo assumes that the area is likely dead. Visitors aren’t going to arrive at such a late hour nor will they be returning from their exploits quite yet.

A relieved smile lifts the edges of the cyborg’s lips, and he presses his left thumb against the ring finger of the same hand. A low buzzing signal fills his ears for a few moments, followed by a soft click.

“I’m outside,” Yeosang whispers, slowly advancing through the alley. 

“For real?” The captain’s voice filters straight into the cyborg’s ears. Yeosang had set up a connection shortcut for his comms into his fingers - another perk of being mostly mechanical. Though his comm still needs to be in range, he can at least feed the signal into his augments and run it directly into his ears. “Holy shit, Yeo, you’re amazing.”

  
Yeosang’s smile widens, “Yeah, I know.”

The captain chuckles, “Shut up. Okay, where are you at, then?”

“Just touched down onto solid ground. In an alley right now. Gonna follow the beacon.”

“Alright. Stay safe and keep us updated.”

“No problem,” Yeo replies coolly, timidly sticking his head out of the alley and eyeing the street. Just as he thought - it’s deserted, nothing but dark shop windows and low amber street lights. The only place that appears to be open is the customs building, unsurprisingly. “I’m going to make my way to the estate.”

“It’s about twenty minutes walking. I don’t know what the streets are like at night, though.”

“From what you told me, it’s mostly pedestrian,” Yeosang says hushedly, entering the street. He swaps his vision field from default to data. The data view can show him a massive wealth of information at a mere glance, however given that things typically get crowded easily, he usually opts to only toggle on one or two paramters at a time. Prior to departing, Yeo linked up the ocular implants to the comm’s geolocation mechanism, making navigation seamless. He follows the virtual compass needle at the edge of his vision toward their beacon.

The cyborg speaks calmly, eyes constantly studying his surroundings, “I’m guessing things will come to life as I venture further inward.”

“Right,” Hongjoong says. “It’s a bit of a hike, though. Um- Is the dress fitting okay? It’s not too uncomfortable, is it?”

“It’s fine,” Yeosang replies with a laugh. “I feel very free. What’s important is that it’s convincing.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that. You look pretty. I bet you’ll be, like, the hottest person there.”

Yeo’s cheeks burn, “Ha ha, very funny.” He pouts.

“I’m serious!” The captain laughs. “You had me questioning my feelings about you for a sec-”

“In your dreams,” Yeosang cuts the other off bluntly.

“Wh- Wow. Okay, wow, you didn’t even think about it. I’m hurt.”

“Face it: I’m way too good for you,” Though nobody’s around to see it, Yeosang flips his holographic hair.

“Oof- Feisty,” Hongjoong growls exaggeratedly.

Yeosang winces, “Ugh. You know this is going directly into ear canals, right?”

“Wait, so you mean if I, like, make a sound really close to the mic-”

“Don’t you dare-”

_ “Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-” _ Yeosang imagines the captain’s got his mouth right to the comm as he aggressively rolls an R sound. The reaction that runs through Yeo’s body is visceral, an unpleasant twinge running up the base of his spine, shaking him up to his shoulders.

“Oh my god- Stop!” The cyborg demands a little too loudly. His head whips around, paranoid. Luckily, he hadn’t quite reached anywhere populated quite yet. Lowering his voice, Yeosang tells the other, “Okay, as fun as that was, I think I need to hang up. There’s gonna be people around eventually, and I don’t want them to think I’m crazy because I’m talking to myself.”

“-rrrrr- right- right, yeah, okay,” Hongjoong concedes.

“Alright. Like I said, I’ll keep you updated. Promise I won’t let you down.”

“Yeosang, you could never let me down.”

Embarrassed heat prickles the cyborg’s cheeks again. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to getting complimented like this. 

“Just be safe,” The captain says.

“I’ll be fine,” Yeosang replies. “Over and out.”

“Over and out,” Hongjoong responds before finally hanging up with a soft click.

Yeosang sighs. He turns a corner, and people start ambling into view. The cyborg takes a deep breath, clearing his mind of distraction and worry. He holds his head higher and pushes his shoulder out, chest forward, clasping his hands loosely in front of himself - like San told him. Gaze cast down, Yeo follows the red needle at the edge of his vision as it guides him toward their goal.

* * *

“Oh- Sorry, sugar” A broad, older woman apologizes to Yeosang upon bumping into him. 

Yeo makes a shallow, deferent bow and gives a dismissive wave. The stranger strolls away, arm in arm with a woman half her age. The flamboyant couple stride off, none the wiser to the fact that one of their party invitations had been relieved of them. Yeosang grins down at the luminescent slip of paper with twirling script outlining the place and date of “Yuqi and Lucas’s Engagement Celebration”. It’d been years since he pickpocketed anyone, but some skills never quite leave the repoirtoire. Even prior to his parents passing, Yeo had picked up the skill for passing amusement. It was something all the ruffians and urchins did at the time before the patrols and the crackdowns.

The more of Tierrohada Yeosang sees, the more the place shocks him. It so starkly contrasts from his home in the lower sectors, Yeo can scarcely believe it’s real at all. Compared to where he grew up, Tierrohada is like something out of a story book. All the pretty, quirky architecture, the gorgeous, colorful blooms everywhere - not to mention the people. Armed Coalition patrols don’t walk around with guns strapped conspicuously to their holsters. People don’t huddle around fire barrels for warmth nor is anyone pitching wares or scams on the sidewalk. When they walk, they all look so happy, so carefree - as if they don’t have a care in the world. They greet one another on the streets with smiles, hugs, and kisses. 

For some reason, the overt geniality and jubilance makes Yeosang want to meld into the walls. He didn’t mind being put in a dress, and hopping the massive, piked fence of the dockyard had been a breeze. It’s being among so many people - so many beautiful, glowing, joyful people - that makes his insides squirm. The idea that one of them may attempt to say hello to him or, even worse, give him one of those strange, hovering double kisses that appears customary, terrifies him.

Yeosang tries to remember San’s tips on postures, urging his body not to curl in on itself as he approaches the open gates of the Ambassador’s estate. It’s a grand, beauteous building, wonderfully symmetrical and glowing from within with lights. People queue at each side of the gate, invitations in hand, waiting to get waved in by the guards posted there.

Yeo makes sure to line up opposite the couple he’d pickpocketed. He takes in as much information as possible during his wait. The crowd is majority women, but a few posh men stick out here and there. One or two of them don Coalition dress uniforms - something that draws a frown out of the cyborg. Music echoes out from beyond the house, melding with the buzz of polite conversation among party guests. Yeosang doesn’t hear anything particularly interesting from the partygoers. Most of them are grateful for the young couple. They wonder about what the food is going to be like, what drinks they’ll serve, the music, and the decoration. A rather old sounding woman expresses disappointment that Yuqi was to wed a man. Some of his line neighbors comment on other peoples’ attire as well. Yeosang can’t blame them. The fashion is quite a sight to behold. Yeosang wonders if it’s always like this, or if the people of the city just really like to dress up. Garments vary from flowing and drapey to architectural and graphic. Some women don metallic numbers that fall over their body so fluidly that they appear to have been poured while others wear garments that seem to defy the laws of physics, colors popping from geometric panels. Their makeup is just as diverse and vivid, a veritable rainbow of gleaming body paints and brilliant pops of color.

Yeosang smiles to himself as he observes stunning outfit after stunning outfit. His outfit is plain due to necessity and time restraint. Knowing the captain, he’d have probably gone full out if he had the resources and time (“I wanted to be a designer for a hot minute,” Hongjoong said as he frantically turned a couple of white panels on the bias and stitched.) However, the cyborg’s plain appearance creates the ideal camouflage. Nobody’s eye will stray to the wallflower in white.

After what feels like forever, Yeosang is finally up in line. His stomach tosses as he shakily hands the buff guard his (stolen) invite. Never had Yeosang really thought of wearing a skirt - they always seemed impractical for working in the shop - but now he sees the merits of having one if only for the purpose of clutching it. Venting his nerves through his sweaty, white-knuckled grip into the fabric is actually rather soothing. And it is pleasantly airy.

He tries to suppress the sigh of relief that comes over him when he’s waved through without a second glance. Yeosang shuffles in, eager to blend in with the crowd initially. Guests are let into the main entrance of the estate and led straight back down a corridor, through wide double doors into a courtyard. Tent-tops strung with lights float over the courtyard, each massive fabric panel a different color. Ornately patterned rugs layer over one another, creating a “floor” for the festivities. Richly dressed people mill about left and right, chattering happily as a floating ampdrone hovering overhead blasts strange electronic music. While people converse in scattered clumps, a particularly large congregation of people are gathered toward the far side of the courtyard, under a sparkling purple tent-top. Yeosang guesses that the guests of honor are somewhere in the crowd, greeting guests and thanking them.

The cyborg keeps his eyes down as he advances in, constantly aware of the shifting of the needle in his peripherals. The needle turns around completely, pointing behind the cyborg, a confirmation of the captain’s information. It’s inside, in the part of the house through which all of the guests are being routed. 

Yeo surveys his surroundings, absentmindedly strolling toward a crowded bar. He presses his left thumb to his ring finger again.

“Buzz… Buzz… Buzz- click.”

“Yeosang?” Hongjoong’s voice feeds into the cyborg’s ears.

“Captain,” Yeosang murmurs quietly. “Can you hear me?”

“Perfectly. Why?”

“I’m in,” The cyborg informs his captain. “There’s music playing. A lot of people.” Yeo hears breath hit the reciever.

“Good job. Everything okay so far?” Hongjoong asks.

“Yeah,” Yeo replies. “Really well, actually. Kinda scary how well it’s going.”

“Don’t jinx it,” The captain half-jokes. Yeosang can hear the slight tinge of worry in the other’s voice.

“Right. Well, we got herded into the courtyard. I’m laying low. Gonna try to check for alternative entrances. Not a lot of guards visible…”

“Yeah, well, don’t let that fool you,” Hongjoong says. “That Yuqi girl is supposedly in the force or something. Assuming the party’s mostly friends or colleagues of hers-”

“They’re all trained cops,” Yeosang breathes out.

“Yup. So be careful.”

“Don’t worry, captain,” Yeosang replies. He toggles his vision to thermal. His immediate field of view is a swarm of crimson and yellow. It recedes into cool purple beyond the crowd, making it easy to spot anybody in the house. “I’ve got this.”

“Right. I- I know. Please don’t think I’m doubting you, I just- Worry-”

“I know.”

“Just get it done, okay? Then we can get the hell out of here. In and out, don’t talk to anyone.”

“Yes, captain, I know,” Yeosang whispers. “Trust me, I don’t plan on-”

“What are you drinking?” A voice loudly intonates right next to Yeosang’s ear. The cyborg jumps, releasing his fingers and gasping. Eyes wide, his head whips around, brows furrowed in pique and stress. “Whoa- Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to scare you.” The man flashes a wide, sheepish smile. 

Initially, Yeosang glances around to see who the guy’s talking to. When he realizes that the man is genuinely addressing him, it takes every ounce of restraint he has not to make an unpleasant face. He sticks with his wide-eyed expression, hoping he looks surprised and not terrified.

“So, you a champagne girl?”

Yeosang points to himself dumbly inquisitively. He’s normally not so uncouth, but his stress regarding his mission compunded with utter shock exacerbates his natural awkwardness with strangers. Yeo studies the man regarding him with a cheshire smile. The man’s classically handsome, Yeo supposes. Dark hair, light eyes that appear to be blue naturally, cutting cheekbones and a long, distinguished nose - the type that nobles in history books have. The most alarming thing the cyborg notices isn’t the way the man’s tongue flits out from between his lips or how his gaze wanders the lines of the other’s body liberally. It’s the Coalition dress uniform. An impressive amount of ribbons and rosettes adorn the breast of his jacket and shoulders. Planetary Infantry division, Yeo thinks. He’s not positive, but it’s hardly of consequence anyway. Coalition is Coalition, no matter how well tailored their uniforms may be.

Even worse: in this case, Coalition is eyeing Yeosang like he’s dinner.

“Or maybe you fancy wine? Wait- Don’t tell me,” The blue-eyed man grins, “Rosè.”

Yeosang opens his mouth to respond but clamps it shut immediately. His voice is a dead giveaway that he isn’t what he appears. Dedicated to the farce, he shakes his head adamantly instead.

“No?” The man, still grinning -  _ why is he fucking grinning _ \- narrows his eyes in a facsimile of playful teasing. “Don’t tell me you prefer ale?”

Yeosang shakes his head.

“Hard liquor, then? Or- Wait, what about something mixed? I think the lovely couple has a ‘signature drink’ for the night- oh!” He gasps, face lighting up. Maybe he saw someone he knows, Yeosang thinks hopefully.

“I love this song!” The guy says. He wraps hand around Yeosang’s wrist and starts dragging him toward the area that appears to be a dance floor. “Dance with me?”

Yeosang shoots the other a dirty look and shakes his head, pulling his hand. The man’s grip is steady, though, and he appears completely unshaken.

“Aw, don’t be shy,” He drags Yeosang through the crowd toward the dance floor. Yeosang’s mouth opens again, a scathing rejection at the tip of his tongue. Then, once again, he remembers his voice and his position. Telling a Coalition officer - a decorated one at that - to fuck off publically while surrounded by law enforcement is perhaps the most conspicuous way to get his ass whooped that he can think of. Yeosang grits his teeth, grasping at potential solutions to the thorn in his side.

Once under the colorful lights of the dance floor, the man pulls him close - too close. Yeosang’s skin crawls.

“Wait- I’m sorry, stranger, I never even introduced myself,” He steps back and bows exaggerattedly, extending a gloved hand, “Lieutenant Colonel Ezra Smythe. Forgive my brazen nature, I just couldn’t help myself. You are…” His eyes travel Yeosang’s body again, “Stunning. I’m here with the Mister, anyway. Don’t know the kid that well, but our families are acquainted.”

Yeosang hardly feels satiated by the half-assed “apology”. All it does is cause his guts to churn more aggressively. Yeosang doesn’t take the man’s extended hand. He wordlessly eyes the thing like it’s made of lava, praying the man’s ego takes a substantial enough hit that he fucks off.

“What’s your name?” The Coalition officer asks in a lilting tone. So much for that prayer.

The cyborg shakes his head, pointing to his throat. “I can’t talk” - he says nonverbally.

“Aw,” The older man coos. “Lose your voice? Poor thing. Are you sick?” He takes the liberty to press his palm to Yeosang’s forehead. “You feel like you’re burning up.”

With rage, Yeosang thinks.

* * *

Jongho frowns as he sees the silhouettes of the guards approaching again. He wonders if they’d been told to check up on ATEEZ every half hour or if they just did it out of boredom. The guys had been taking shifts to help Yunho “fix the ship”.

“What do we tell them now?” Jongho whispers to Yunho. The two of them had been hunched over the starboard hydraulics system of the loading ramp for the past minute.

“Tell them we need lubricant,” Yunho whispers stressedly.

“Wh- You want me to look those guards in the face and ask for lube?!”

“Wha- No, don’t ask for it, you tell them we need it, but, like we’re getting it from the ship,” Yunho huffs. “Nasty!”

“I am not nasty, I am simply conscious,” Jongho whispers back fervently.

“I think you’re a little nasty,” Yunho replies, holding his fingers up just centimeters apart. “Like, this nasty.”

Jongho smacks him, “Shut u-”

“Still working on the problem?” A voice bellows behind them.

Jongho bursts up and blurts you, “We need lube!” He flashes them a grin that he hopes does not communicate panic.

The guard’s eyes go wide, and the skinnier of the two coughs loudly. The broader one’s face wrinkles into a judgmental look. Initially, Jongho doesn’t understand why until he realizes the compromising position they’d been caught in, what with the younger standing upright with the canis bent over in front of him. His fear of seeming inappropriate realized right before his eyes.

“For the ship,” The youngest adds hastily, taking a big step away from the other to show that they had not been publically debauching one another. Yunho’s like a goofy older brother to him, and the mere thought of having such lecherous relations with the guy gives Jongho the creeps.

“How long will that take?” The broader guard asks impatiently.

“Well,” Yunho coughs, standing up, “That depends.”

The guards’ gazes shift from Jongho to Yunho, expectant. The canis’s tail sags slightly between his leg, and he coughs a couple of times.

“Depends on what?” The tall woman asks.

“Things,” Yunho says. “You know it needs to be the right- the right consistency. If it’s not slippery enough then, you know. We might have- might have problems.”

“Are you  _ stocked  _ with lubricant that is adequately slippery?” The broader woman deadpans.

“I’m going to check right now!” Jongho chirps, eager to escape the scrutiny of the lady guards. He bolts up the loading ramp, feeling almost no regret about leaving the humecanis behind. Yunho’s good with people, Jongho figures. He’ll be fine.

Jongho trots up the stairs and enters the living area. The second the door slides shut behind him, he lets out a loud, prolonged scream.

“They’re back,” Jongho groans, plopping on top of Wooyoung and San who’d been sitting on the couch together.

“Seriously?” Hongjoong rolls his eyes. He and Mingi sit across from one another at the kitchen table, a projection of their comm’s map projected above the table. They’d been watching Yeosang like a hawk the entire time. “What do they want?”

“The same shit they always want,” Jongho replies stretching across the siren and the older hume’s laps. “For us to go.”

The captain worries at his bottom lip, brows knit as he stares at Yeosang’s blinking beacon on the holographic map, “We’re not going anywhere until he’s back and we have our piece of the Compass.”

“How long is he gonna take, though?” San asks, a pout on his lips.

“Yeah,” Mingi adds sheepishly. “We’re running out of fake problems. Maybe we should leave him.”

Wooyoung grabs a pillow off of the couch and whips it roughly at the Venusian’s head. It strikes the target head on, eliciting a surprised yelp from the unsuspecting victim.

“I was kidding,” Mingi whines.

“You’re not funny!” Wooyoung scolds the other.

“What if one of us goes in after him?” San posits.

“Not a good idea,” Wooyoung shoots the other down swiftly. He turns to the captain, “Joong, should we call him again?”

“I dunno,” Hongjoong mutters, eyes never leaving Yeosang’s beacon on the projection. “He cut off all of a sudden, but- he’s surrounded by people. He shouldn’t be talking to us right now. Look, I’m worried, too, but we need to trust him. He’s easily the smartest out of all of us-”

“What about me?” Mingi mopes.

“ _ Easily _ the smartest out of all of us,” Hongjoong says again more loudly. Even though his worry is so immense that it’s damn near palpable, Mingi’s joke uncoils the visible tension in the captain’s body, just a bit.

(At least, Jongho thinks it was a joke. One never knows with Mingi.)

Though the youngest prides himself on his composure, even his stomach begins to knot as he watches Yeosang’s beacon blink idly above the kitchen table.

* * *

Yeosang searches the crowd. For what, he doesn’t know. An escape, perhaps. As the night ran on, the music ramped up into something more exciting. Consequently, the dance floor got denser and the Coalition officer? Clingier. At some point, shots were passed around and a striking woman - the Ambassador, it turned out - made a toast.

That was when Yeosang finally wiggled out of the Colonel’s grasp. He made a vague motion as if to excuse himself to the restroom and bolted. Thermals, on Yeosang scans the house again. All eyes are on the dance area and the lovely young couple. Even the guards, dedicated as they are, have their eyes trained on the party and not on the fringes. Yeosang notices a cool spot to the east side of the courtyard. It’s slightly askew from the direction his needle is pointing him in, but it’s the least populated in terms of guards. 

Swallowing down nausea from nerves, Yeosang presses himself into the shadows of the eastern doorway. The lock mechanism is a keypad, four characters. Easy. Given his limited time, the cyborg brute forces it. He presses his left palm against the panel, alphanumeric combinations reeling through his mind at a pace faster than the beat of a midge’s wings. 

Four seconds later, the lock clicks open. 

Yeosang slips in quietly and softly shuts the door behind himself. His vision swaps to thermal again, and he’s relieved to read cold in the immediate area. Swapping back to normal, he paces quickly through the halls, ignoring all other distractions. The Ambassador’s estate is a maze, but a logically organized one. Yeosang quickly discerns the grid-like layout. 

  
Sweat drops down his brow as he gets closer and closer. His stomach churns with nausea and nerves. He’s so close, he can feel it. 

He turns the corner to another hall and halts. A guard crosses in front of him from one hall to another. 

The disguised cyborg hides around a corner, pressing himself into the wall momentarily. He shifts his view to thermal again and peeks over his shoulder. The bright red shape plods onward slowly, walking through the hallway parallel to him. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, a quick, steady beat as he waits. 

The red blob turns a corner and grows. It’s walking toward him. Yeosang takes a few steadying breaths, briefly assessing the situation. The guard is appears to be moving in a set formation. They’re coming toward him, and more likely than not they’re going to turn the corner and check the hallway he’s currently in. That’s his guess.

If he had somewhere to hide, the cyborg would test the theory just to be certain, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns the corner and walks quickly. He rushes, and suddenly his guidance needle whips quickly in the opposite direction.

  
Slowing down, Yeosang’s brows knit together, and he backtracks. The needle creeps back toward center until it’s perfectly west. Walking back even further, the guiding pointer begins shifting due north. Yeo does the awkward trot a few times, pacing back and forth until discerning that ultimately the beacon is, in fact, beyond the wall.

Yeosang steps back, toggling to normal view, and realization dawns upon him instantly when he finds himself in front of a door. It must be the way to the study Hongjoong told him about. A shadow shifts in the corner, and he instantly remembres that a guard had been due to route around rom that very direction. The cyborg bolts into the room, shutting the door behind him as quickly and quietly as possible.

Inside the study, everything is dark.

It’s dark and quiet and so, so serene compared to the boisterous party pounding outside. Yeosang takes a minute to savor the silence, heaving a relieved sigh and practically melting onto the floor. He didn’t realize just how stressed he was to be in that situation until partially removing himself from it. Though he still has a task to accomplish, simply removing himself from the bulk of the party fills him with relief.

Back in BH there were always lots of people (at least between patrols), but everyone minded their own business. They all had their own devices to tend to. Save for the street vendors people kept their eyes down. Nobody grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him places unless it was for his safety. People

“Thank god,” Yeosang whispers to himself. He wrings a hand through his hair, briefly distorting his projected locks, and picks himself up off the ground. Pressing his fingers together, he calls the ship again.

“Holy shit-! Yeosang, where are you at?” Hongjoong asks.

“I’m in the study,” The cyborg steps forward, scanning the dark room. He doesn’t want to turn on any lights and risk rousing suspicion. “Where did you say it was again?”

“Check the ceiling,” The captain tells him. 

Yeosang steps further in. He beams light from his ocular implants up above. There are patterns carved into the ceiling. Carved, golden vines twirl around recessed lighting. In the middle of it all sits a tiny fleck of wrought brass.

“There you are,” Yeosang mutters. “Found it,” He tells his captain.

“Really? Nice!” Joong beams through the line. “So, um, yeah I- I couldn’t get it out in time, but-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yeosang chuckles. He scans the room for anything that might be of help. There’s a velveteen upholstered chair in the middle of the room - likely the result of the captain’s attempt at retrieving the piece himself. He carefully climbs onto the chair and reaches his left hand out. Once again, the simple technological applications of electromagnets prove indispensible. He coaxes the charge through his fingers.

The brassy piece stirs, lurching in the direction of the cyborg’s hand. Initially it expresses reluctance as it jostles in place. It stubbornly clings to inertia until finally the provocation of magnetism is too much. Slowly, it drifts toward him, toward the glowing electromagnetic node at the tip of Yeosang’s forefinger. Yeo closes his fingers delicately around the node when it’s within reach.

Eyes trained on the piece, he toggles his vision for any initial information. 

  
The piece is… Mysterious. Data view simply returns “unknown” upon superficial composition discernment. Nothing about it is jarringly out of the ordinary. Sure, its carvings are strange and the shape peculiar. Yeosang can’t imagine that any sensible engineer would design a mechanism utilizing such ununiform shapes and sizes. It’s no thicker than a coin and cool to the touch.

Eager to leave, Yeosang slips it beneath his bustier, taking out his scrap replica. The carvings on it aren’t as distinct, and the shape is slightly off, but from what Yeo can gather, the study sees little use. It’s likely nobody would notice the difference, anyway.

“Okay, I’m gonna set down the replacement,” Yeosang whispers, ring and thumb still connected to voice comms. “Then we’re getting the hell out of here.”

“Nice,” Hongjoong heaves a sigh of relief. “Yeah, the guards are getting antsy.”

“Don’t worry,” Yeosang replies. He strides over to the displaced cloche where the original piece had been. Double checking that he is, in fact, holding his replica, he squats down and places it in the ring of clean wood where the dust hadn’t settled. “Five seconds and I’m gonna b-”

_ “Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-” _

The door opens behind him, a large rectangle of light flooding the study from the entrance. Yeosang freezes. His blood curdles, and he collects himself, mind reeling with viable excuses and ways out.

“There’s my little wallflower,” A slurred voice lilts, tone thick and lecherous. Just the man’s voice alone exerts a heavy weight on the cyborg’s back, like a hand he wishes desperately wasn’t there. “Hm… For someone so seemingly meek your moves are bold.”

What the  _ hell _ is he talking about? Yeosang stands up slowly after shakily replacing the cloche. He casts aside his veneer of politeness and gives the other an indignant look.

“The little game, wallflower,” The Coalition officer elaborates. “Nice implants, by the way. They suit you.”

Yeosang blinks confusedly for a moment before realizing that his ocular lights are still on. He turns them off, gaze darting away. The heat of anger and anxiety roil in his chest. He just needs to get out, he reminds himself. There’s only one obstacle barring him from a safe exit. Except that obstacle is a Coalition officer who refuses to respect boundaries. Amagee is an ally, and though they use their own forces domestically, one call to their good friends in the Coalition could spell ruin for ATEEZ’s crew.

Yeo keeps his head down and steps toward the door. The gentleman in the suit - Ezra, Yeosang recalls - shuts the door behind him. The room goes dark again. Yeosang’s eyes shoot up, squinting to adjust to the darkness. He internally chides himself for not having his night vision programming up to date - a mental note to be revisited later. Right now, he’s got more pressing issues.

“You’re different,” The officer remarks.

Yeah, Yeosang thinks. No shit. He moves forward, and the uniformed man takes a step toward him. The cyborg halts abruptly.

“Most of the women here are loud and obnoxious, but you...” Ezra looms closer, and Yeosang stumbles backward, reflexively repulsed. “You’re precious. Modest and quiet, like a lily of the valley.” The closer he gets, the sharper the stench of alcohol wafting off of him becomes.

Yeosang eyes the approximate position of the door and makes a break for it. He doesn’t have the time or patience to indulge the creep in front of him. The cyborg lunges for the door, but he’s caught quickly. 

In the meanwhile, the captain’s voice filters into his ears, “What’s going on?! It got quiet. Yeosang what are you doing? You need to get ba-” The feed cuts off. 

Hands grab Yeosang’s waist, swinging him around and slamming him into a nearby bookshelf. The sudden contact makes Yeosang wince, and he grits his teeth to suppress a pained groan.

“As much as I love the thrill of the chase,” Ezra says, hands fixed firmly on Yeosang’s waist, “It’s just you and me now, wallflower. You can stop playing coy, I know you led me here for a reason.”

Yeo moves, but a hand roughly grabs him by the shoulder, holding him firmly against the shelving. The cyborg’s face distorts with pain as the hardwood digs into his back. He struggles, but the officer is strong. The man closes the gap until he’s close enough for his breath to bounce off of the other’s skin. Yeosang clutches the shelves behind him in a vice, entire body tense.

  
He opens his mouth to mount protest but the other leans forward. Something about the proximity is arresting. Yeosang’s voice catches in his throat as the lech’s hands licentiously travel up his sides. A disconcerted shiver runs down his spine, and panic trickles into his veins.

It’s shock, he realizes. He’s in shock. He can’t fathom that this is happening. Of all the atrocities he’d experienced in his life, none had ever been so intimate in nature. They’d always been perpetrated by machines or illness, violent and surgical in their extraction of life. Faceless. This threat, though, has a face. He has a face and a voice and a gaze that is - even in the dark - so excruciatingly intense.

Yeosang freezes in place, eyes wide and mind blank. His thoughts struggle to gain traction, trickling through his mind like water through a sieve. He registers the sensation of hands pawing at him. One squeezes his shoulder while another callously paws as it pleases. Panic constricts the cyborg’s throat, pumping through the parts of his body with legitimate circulation. A hand roughly paws between his legs, and Yeosang gasps. He prays that the officer will leave him alone in lieu of the discovery, that the vile man will curse at him, throw him down and leave.

“Oh, so you’re different. That’s okay,” The man hums like a predator ready to sink its teeth into prey. “It’s no problem for me, wallflower.”

Do something!

  
Yeosang urges himself desperately.

_ Do something! _

But he can’t. Shock has rendered him helpless, and his body barely feels like his own. Hot tears stream down his face as the brute pressed up against him blathers on about some nonsense. He pleads with himself, begs his body to act on its self preservation instincts. Instead it just seems to further shut down as if resigned. His chest heaves, struggling to find breaths through his constricted airways, and his vision begins to haze over.

  
_ Do something _ , he implores himself.

_ Why aren’t you moving?  _ He asks himself.  _ Why aren’t you doing anything? _

_ “Craaaaaaash-!!” _

Yeosang yelps, dropping onto the floor as the door to the study slams open. He cowers as the lights flicker on, straining his vision.

“Hands off of her!” A woman shouts.

“Now, hold on just a minute-”

_ “Zzzzzt-zzzzt!!” _ The distinct electric snapping of lasers cuts the air of the room. The body that’d been blocking Yeosang’s view drops to the floor, unconscious, and Yeosang scrambles away panickedly. He clamps both hands over his mouth, scarcely holding back the scream of terror that so greatly wants to rip through his lungs. Through his tear-blurred vision he makes out a cluster of forms in the doorway. Two appear to approximately match while another sticks out starkly - probably dressed for the party.

“Ugh,” The well-dressed woman scoffs, lightly kicking the now unconscious Coalition officer on the floor. When Yeosang manages to clear his vision, he sees two uniformed Tierrohada guards and a pretty woman with fringe and burgundy lipstick. She’s got a gorgeously crafted one-shoulder lace number on, but what’s more eyecatching is the hefty laser gun in her hand. “See  _ this _ is why we can’t have nice things.” Her nose scrunches in disgust at Ezra. “Invite everyone, they said, she’ll get more gifts they said.  _ Ugh _ . Disgusting.”

Yeosang wishes he could feel relieved, but he can hardly feel secure when he’s essentially been cornered by the three armed women. Apparently, he looks as manic as he feels, because the shooter’s expression immediately softens upon meeting Yeosang’s eyes.

“Oh- Sweetie,” Voice low and sweet, she tentatively takes a step around the felled officer and gestures to her guards. The women in uniform peel the drooling man off of the ground and drag him away, leaving Yeosang and the other alone. Yeosang gulps nervously. “Are you hurt?” 

Yeosang can’t muster a response. He merely returns with a teary-eyed expression. His mind is still reeling, struggling to catch up to the present.

“Hey,” The woman says, “Listen, my name is Minnie, and I’m Ambassador Soojin’s Secretary of Security. That guy’s gonna face harsh, harsh punishment because we take that shit seriously here. I promise: you have nothing to be afraid of anymore. You’re safe now, alright?”

Yeosang nods numbly still not quite caught up.

“Okay,” Minnie nods. “I’m gonna stay with you for a little bit. Do you need to get up and walk around? Get out of this room? Or would you prefer to stay here?”

Yeo just huddles his knees close, body very, very gradually coming down from the sharp peak of his anxiety. 

“We’ll stay here, then,” Minnie interprets the body language aptly. She picks up the billowy skirt of her gown and daintily lowers herself onto the ground, a couple meters away from the cyborg. Her gaze sweeps across the room, occasionally resting on the cyborg - subtle discernment. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence as Yeosang’s body deflates, fatigue slowly taking the place of distress. 

“God, there’s a lot of old shit in here,” Minnie mentions casually. Yeosang giddily grasps onto the distraction, following the woman’s eyes. 

  
There is, in fact, a lot of “old shit” in the study, as she says. Dust coats the knick knacks, making them look old enough to be artifacts. Strange art pieces and little statues intermingle with print books on the wooden shelves.

“Yeah, no wonder nobody uses this room,“ Minnie says. “No windows and all this old shit. Y’know, the Ambassador’s estate has been around for centuries. Of course they’ve added to it, remodeled and stuff, but they say the original structure’s been around for a while. Would not surprise me if some of that stuff ended up here. You can tell this room’s old- I mean, who wants to study in a place with  _ zero _ natural lighting?”

It’s clear she’s prattling to distract Yeosang. It’s not entirely effective, but the effort is appreciated. Minnie gets up and walks around, tracing her hand along the spines of old books and murmuring. She makes up purposes and stories for each little bit and bob. “I think this is a two-headed cat,” She laughs, picking up a little abstract statue. “And this… This one is-” She coughs as the action kicks up a small cloud of dust. “-this one’s a dust encyclopedia.” (Yeosang very nearly stops frowning at that one.)

“Now this one right here…” Minnie bends over and squints at the cloche with the floating metal piece. For a second, the tension returns to Yeosang’s body, squeezing him from inside out. What if she somehow notices something is wrong? 

“I- I can’t even make anything up for this one.” She snarks.

Yeo’s shoulders slacken with relief, and he sinks further toward the floor. After making up a few more exaggerated stories before finally giving up and leaning against the desk.

“Hey,” Minnie says, regarding Yeosang once more. “Are you hurt?”

Yeosang clenches his skirt tightly, tense with the limelight once again turned onto him. Nervously, he shakes his head.

“Okay, good,” The Secretary nods. “Can I get you anything? Food? Some water?”

“I just wanna leave,” Yeosang mutters. He gasps softly, pressing his lips shut tightly. Fuck. His voice is a dead giveaway.

“I can get you an escort,” Minnie responds coolly, not missing a beat.

Yeosang shakes his head fervently.

Minnie furrows her brows, “Are you sure? I mean- Trust that Tierrohada’s streets are the safest in this galaxy, but I want you to feel safe.”

Yeo nods fervently. Minnie purses her lips, contemplating the other’s answer for a moment.

“Okay,” She says finally. “If that’s what genuinely makes you most comfortable, I’ll honor it... I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“U-Uhm Yeo- Yeo...Nna- Yeonna,” Yeosang chokes out, face reddening. Surely this time, she’ll note that his voice is about three octaves deeper than it ought to be.

“Yeonna… Unusual, but cute. I like it,” Minnie comments, a kind smile blooming across her features. “You’re… Not from around here, are you Yeonna?”

Yeosang shakes his head.

“You with the Mister?”

Yeosang nods, as it seems the most likely cover. Thankfully, Minnie doesn’t demand any sort of elaboration.

“Well, Yeonna, at least let me see you to the door. May I?” Minnie gestures toward the open door of the study.

Yeosang nods, using the bookshelves to help hoist himself up. Anxiety stubbornly lingers beneath his skin, leaving an impression of ill unsettlement in his body. Even so, he huddles himself closely, clutching his bodice to assure that the thing he’d made it his mission to collect is still secure. 

Head down, he follows Minnie through the halls of the estate, back to the front door and out the front yard. Yeosang hears Minnie making smalltalk with guards and staff on their trip out, but he doesn’t really listen. All he can think of is ATEEZ. He clings to the thought of his crew with a vice, sapping every bit of comfort he can from his fondness. It does little, unfortunately, to mitigate the perpetual panic that’s now sunk into his bones.

“Alright, Yeonna,” Minnie says once they’ve reached the front gate. The city streets feel immensely quiet in contrast to the lively festivities just beyond the front of the estate. “Now, are you sure you don’t want an escort? It’s really no trouble at all.”

“I’m sure-” Yeosang starts. He coughs, quieting his voice to a whisper. “I’m sure.”

Minnie grins at him warmly and glances around before lowering her own voice, “Then I’ll bid you farewell and wish you a safe return to your ship. Though, Yeonna, I want you to know that- I don’t know where you’re from, but you are always welcome and safe here in Tierrohada. All women are. You don’t need to hide your lovely voice, so speak freely if you’re so inclined moving forward.”

“O-Okay,” Yeosang croaks out. He doesn’t really care. The sentiment is well and good, but his mind is elsewhere. Home. He wants to go home. To the ship. To familiarity and comfort. “Thank you,” He turns on his heel, just barely hearing Secretary Minnie’s genial goodbye. He waves in her general direction and power walks away.

The second that the estate is out of view, he breaks into a run, eager to put as much distance between himself and the estate as possible. A loud, ringing tone fills his ears halfway through his trip, and he yelps, ducking into an alley and folding over himself. His chest heaves with strained, panicked breaths as his head whips around in search of the source.

_ “Briiiing! Briiiiiing! Briiiiing-” _

It takes Yeosang a shamefully long few minutes to realize that the ringing in his ears isn’t some blaring alarm or Coalition patrol siren. He hesitantly presses his thumb and ring finger together, wincing as a cacophany of voices fills his ears.

“-ere you are!” “Where have you been?!” “Are you okay?!”

Apparently, the captain is on speaker. Usually, Yeosang would be happy to indulge the antics of his shipmates, but his nerves are frayed and he wants nothing more than to be off the planet Amagee. 

“I’m on the way,” Yeosang says tersely. “I have to go.” He disconnects the line quickly.

The rest of his trip is a blur of dark alleyways and amberlit streets. The population recedes as Yeosang nears the dockyard. Even so, he’s still hyperaware of every silhouette and shadow stretching across sidewalks and flitting between the alleys. Occasionally, the acute fear spikes that he’d been followed - that a guard or a wretched Coalition officer is on his tail. Logically, he understands how silly it is. He watched the man get dragged away, and his thermal sensors pick up nothing more meaningful than a few rodents. In spite of what his rational mind understands, his intuitive imagination runs amok with worst case scenarios.

Yeosang races across the rocky bank at the back of the dockyard and scales the fence swiftly. His skirt snags, a loud ripping sound cutting through the relative silence of the night. He doesn’t care, jumping down from the top and letting his mechanical legs bear the brunt of the shock.

Finally, ATEEZ comes into view. Yeosang sprints to the silver vessel, flooded with relief when he catches sight of Yunho’s wagging, blond tail.

“Oh thank god,” Yunho says with a grin. “Wait- You-” He lowers his voice. “You got the piece?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang replies, winded from his rush to the ship. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” He rushes in straight past Yunho. The confused canis scurries after the cyborg, tail wagging. Yeo beelines for the ramp control console and pounds the pad to start raising the thing.

“Yeosang?” Hongjoong’s voice echoes from the top of the stairs. “Holy shit you’re back. You got it?”

“Yes,” Yeosang replies. “Everyone’s on the ship, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Yunho says.

Wooyoung follows the Captain, “Yeosang! You’re back! Good job!”

“Welcome back, Yeosang!” “Did you get the piece?” “Hi!” Jongho, San and Mingi quickly follow.

“What should we do with it?” “Do you think we can just stick it in?” “What’re we gonna do with it?” “I’m curious, too.”

Yeosang’s eyes widen at the sudden bombardment. His shipmates clamor to him, and where he felt cared for before, he starts to feel suffocated. Yeosang’s heart hammers against his chest - it’d never adequately quieted following his encounter with the disgustiong Coalition officer. 

“You did well, Yeosang!” “Seriously, you’re a life-saver.” “We owe you so much!”

“It’s- It’s really not a big deal,” Yeosang murmurs. He backs up toward his workbench.

“It is, too!” “Don’t discredit yourself!” “We missed you!” “We love you.” “What was it like at the party?”

The party. Why did they have to mention the party? Yeosang grimaces just thinking of it.

“Wait, your dress…” Hongjoong notices. He frowns. “Yeosang, are you okay? Did you fall or something?”

“It’s nothing,” Yeosang responds. He sticks his hand beneath his neckline and withdraws the piece. “I got what we needed.”

A collective gasp sounds out from the crowd, and the captain steps closer.

“That’s it,” Hongjoong’s face brightens into a wide smile.

“Yeah,” Yeosang replies. “Um, we should get going, though. You said they really want us off planet, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joong mutters, clearly distracted by the piece. Entranced, almost. He reaches out for the brassy metal fragment without warning, and Yeosang flinches, stress spiking in his chest again. His grip on the Compass piece slips, and it floats out from his grasp.

Everyone watches as the node floats up, almost lazily at first. Yet again inertia and perhaps age inhibits the thing. Its ascent is initially sluggish, and the crew simply lets it float up, mesmerised. Something within the piece awakens, though, and it suddenly zips through the air, toward the door leading up.

“Wh-” “Oh, shit!” “Uh-!” A few curses echo across the crew as they watch the Compass piece zoom away with wide eyes. Yunho is the first to give chase, followed by Mingi and Hongjoong. 

“I’ll get it!” “Oh, fuck, not again!” “Don’t worry, we’ve got it this time!” “Wait for me!” “We’ve gotta lift off, too.” “Yeah, let’s go…” Wooyoung, San and Jongho quickly follow. 

Just as quickly as the hurricane of voices had rolled in, it thunders away, captivated by its newest distraction. Though Yeosang’s fascination with the Compass is typically all consuming, he’s not in typical form.

A shower.

That’s what he needs more than anything.

A goddamn shower.

He rips the holographic node out of his hair, and the projected curls immediately fade. Just as he steps toward the stairs leading up, a voice echoes down.

“-ait, we gotta get Yeosang and go up to the bridge!”

The cyborg freezes.

The bridge is a small, tight space. That never bothered him before, but currently the thought of sharing such confined space with six other people overwhelms him. He’s still getting used to living with others after so much time in solitude. After the events of the night, the idea of being so near people - of all of them loud, raucous, yelling, touching, grasping - he simply can’t bear it. Feet appear atop the steps, and Yeosang panics, beelining for the first place he can think of to hide.

Heart pounding against his chest, he runs to the first visible door - the brig, and presses himself against the wall. No longer able to contain himself, Yeosang slides against the wall and drops onto the ground. Sobs wrack through his body violently.

It’s been so long since Yeosang cried - let alone like this. He forgot how much the sensation hurts, how sobs rake sharpened claws across the lungs and strangle a person from inside out. Fresh tears drop down his cheeks as he tries to quieten his own blubbering with a firm hand over the mouth. He can’t control them. That’s the most horrible part, he realizes. To know that no amount of meticulous engineering, no amount of logic or ration, can assure complete control.

Yeosang’s cries echo down the metal hallway until exhaustion diminishes them into muted sniffles. He remains, letting the cool draft that perpetually runs through the brig to dry his tears.

After minutes of silence, a voice finally permeates the relative silence. Not his, though.

“Y...Yeosang?” Seonghwa timidly peeks out from between the bars, eyes wide and tone concerned.

  
Shit.

Talk about an oversight.

Yeosang bemoans his thoughtlessness. Normally he wouldn’t make such a stupid slip-up, but his mental state is compromised. Yeo wipes his wrist roughly across his face and sniffs loudly.

“Yeosang, are you alright?” The blond asks, scooting up to his bars.

Completely and utterly defeated, Yeosang just shakes his head. He admits defeat. He admits that he isn’t alright.

Seonghwa’s brows knit together, “Your clothing… Yeosang did they do this to you?”

“H-Hm?” Yeo grunts.

“Did they- those people- did they do this to you? The crew-”

“Wh- No! I mean- N-No, it’s not like that,” Yeosang gasps. He sniffles, wiping his eyes. He picks himself up off the ground and hesitantly approaches the side of the other’s cell. The barrier of the bars provides reassurance, safety. “They dressed me up, but I-” He sighs heavily. “That’s not why I’m upset.”

Seonghwa’s visible tension relaxes, and his voice softens, “...Wanna talk about it?”

Does he?

Yeosang weighs the pros and cons. He contemplates the merits of secrecy and talking it out. Seonghwa is… Interesting. Beneath his haughty exterior, Yeosang suspects there’s a genuinely sympathetic human. Seonghwa is fairly neutral to Yeosang - neither overtly offensive nor excessively affectionate. Speaking to Seonghwa would assure an outlet without being constantly confronted by pity. Seonghwa also can’t touch him. He has no agenda save for perhaps boredom or authentic care to hear out the cyborg, and he certainly wouldn’t be motivated to tell any of his shipmates.

“Your perspectives can be quite narrow-minded,” Yeosang says frankly. “And I’m not exactly in the mood to be judged.”

“I- I won’t judge you,” Seonghwa promises.

“You don’t know that,” Yeosang says. “And you have a terrible poker face.”

The blond lets out a wry chuckle, “Whatever happened to you, it can’t be worse than what I heard from your lovely crewmates this afternoon.”

That pulls a laugh out of Yeosang. How could he forget? Seonghwa got a front row seat to Wooyoung and San’s two-person shitshow earlier that day. God, that feels so far away. Mere hours feel like weeks.

Yeosang steels himself with a sigh, sitting down again across from the other’s cell, “I had to… Infiltrate somewhere in disguise. Hence the…” He gestures to himself.

Seonghwa nods, pressing his lips together.

“Apparently I was pretty fucking convincing, ‘cause some Coalition creep took the getup as an invitation to- to-” Yeosang inhales sharply. The memory’s too fresh, and he feels stupid for having overestimated himself. He tried to reopen a wound that hadn’t even stopped bleeding yet. Tears rush to his eyes anew. Before Seonghwa’s imagination can run wild, Yeo rushes to tearfully elaborate, “He just put his nasty hands on me. Nothing- nothing to-”

“It doesn’t matter how trivial it seems. He violated your space, and that’s disgusting,” Seonghwa adds sympathetically.

“I just,” Yeosang wrings a hand through his hair, another tear dropping down his cheek, “I just-” His voice presses, his tone strained and quiet, “I froze- I fucking froze-”

“Yeosang…”

“I just- I let it happen. I just stood there and I- I  _ let _ it happen-”

“You didn’t let anything happen.”

“I’ve seen so much shit, but for some reason I- I-”

“You were shocked, Yeosang.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t want to presume how you feel, but I can’t imagine otherwise.”

“I mean, maybe, but- but I shouldn’t have- I was just terrified even though I could’ve- I could’ve-”

“But nothing,” Seonghwa’s voice somehow manages to be stern yet warm. Almost paternal. “Someone violated you. It was their choice to inflict it upon you. You were victimized by a malicious individual. An individual that I hope got what’s coming to him.”

Yeosang replies, “Yeah, he, uh- the Tierrohada guard bailed me out. I’m very grateful they were- they were nice. Stunned him and dragged him god knows where.”

Seonghwa nods, “From… From what I know of this place, they’re very hard on crimes of that nature. Especially on foreigners.”

“God, I fucking hope so,” Yeosang mutters, wringing a hand down his face. His nerves haven’t dissipated - not by a long shot - but he does feel lighter after telling someone. 

The cyborg and the prisoner lapse into comfortable silence for a while. There’s nothing between them save for a few sniffles and sighs. Yeosang studies the placated platinum blond to distract himself. Seonghwa hadn’t even questioned the authenticity of his words. He listened, believed, provided sympathy and reassurances.

As uttered by a famous blond in an ancient fable: “curiouser and curiouser”.

Yeosang wonders if it’s personal or if it’s time in the cell that’s so impressively smoothed out the petty officer’s rough edges. The man had never been particularly hostile to Yeosang. However, the others can’t say the same. Is it personal, then? Or is he merely clinging to the source of his most meaningful human interaction in the past weeks? Yeo tries to recall the proper timeline of his captain’s exploits. It’s been around a month since they embarked.

Yeo’s recollection shifts to earlier in the afternoon with Wooyoung and San. Ultimately, the two did come to terms. Seonghwa regarded the moment with a fairly nonchalant tone. Is that to mean he… Didn’t mind? Was he amused by their antics as opposed to resentful? Did he help?

As they typically do, Yeosang’s thoughts once again ramp up into a busy, crowded cacophony. Normally, he’s happy to ruminate, theorize and reflect. Not now, though.

“I’m going to excuse myself,” Yeosang says with a sense of finality, hoisting himself off the ground. “Gonna take a long shower.”

“That’s a good call. I assume I won’t be seeing you for awhile, so, rest well,” Seonghwa says softly.

“You, too,” Yeosang replies. He starts toward the door but stops, turning over his shoulder to leave make one last observation. “Seonghwa?”

“Hm?” The blond grunts, scooting toward his bars again.

“I think, after all of the observations I’ve made… That they’re wrong about you.”

“What?”

“While I don’t doubt your capacity to be utterly repugnant toward my crewmates I think you’re… Kind,” It feels strange to attribute the word to Petty Officer Park Seonghwa - a name passed around with vitriol at the dinner table and across the cabins.

Seonghwa’s blue eyes widen with surprise, and his face flushes. 

He starts, a stuttered thanks, “I- Yeosang thank y-”

“You’re wrong about them, too, though,” Yeosang interjects frankly. “I think it’d be interesting if you would all give one another a chance.”

Seonghwa lets out an incredulous exhalation. He doesn’t answer that, coiling in on himself and crossing his arms. Closed off. Defensive. Resistant. 

“Goodnight, Seonghwa,” Yeosang says before disappearing through the brig door. The bottom level is quiet when he emerges. He’s grateful for the brief peace before returning to his noisy, obnoxious, excessively doting family. He feels readier now, and of all people on the ship to thank for that, he has Petty Officer Park.

* * *

“Hey,” Hongjoong flashes Yeosang a wide grin as he finally enters the bridge. After the Compass piece went rogue, it got stuck in a light fixture in the kitchen. Joong decided to keep it there until Yeosang finished. They had bigger priorities, anyway - like finally getting the fuck off of Amagee. Though they’d gotten kicked off, guns and fleets of angry police weren’t involved. That counts to Hongjoong as progress!

“Hi,” Yeosang replies. He looks tired. Joong frowns. His little recon mission probably took more out of him than the captain anticipated. The cyborg did have to climb a fence and the round trip is about six kilometers on foot.

“You enjoy your shower?” Joong laughs. “Took you long enough.”

The cyborg doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed somewhere distant yet vague.

“You alright, Yeo?” Hongjoong asks concernedly. In all the fanfare and general commotion, he hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to the cyborg one on one. He looks slightly better than he did before - fresh and clean with a post-shower glow. However, he’s uncharacteristically distracted. His gaze flits about busily and his fingers fidget.

“Huh- Wha- I’m fine,” He responds quickly. 

“You just look a little… Tired is all.”

“Probably some smudged eyeliner,” Yeo shrugs.

Hongjoong eyes the cyborg dubiously but doesn’t opt to breach further. He’s not a pushy type, and now is hardly the time. Joong takes a deep breath and tries to suppress the massive grin that wants to stretch across his face.

“So,” He turns to the cyborg, “You ready to see how the piece is gonna install?”

Yeosang brightens up at that, the gears in his head finally visibly turning. He grins and nods, looking around.

“Where’s the piece?” He asks eagerly.

“It, uh, ended up caught in a light, but Yunho’s got it down- Right Yunho!?” Joong barks down the open door to the stairs.

“Yup!” The canis shouts back up.

“You know our ship has intercom, right?” Yeosang asks with a smirk.

Joong smirks and shrugs, “What’s the fun in that?” Yeo rolls his eyes, but he’s got a smile. Good.

Yunho trots up the steps, hand clasped into a tight fist and tail wagging, “I’ve got the uh- the, um- the thingy!” He laughs.

“You can just call it a part,” Hongjonog says jovially. He gestures for the other to hand it over, and Yunho trots over happily. He opens his hand, and the piece immediately flies out.

“Wh-” “Yunho-” “Not again!” The three in the bridge shout. Yunho apologizes sheepishly as Yeosang jumps after it. It zips near Hongjoong and he grabs at it, figertips just barely grazing the engraved brass. The captain lunges after, frustration flaring in his chest.

_ “Clink!” _

The oblong metal piece flies right into the glass globe atop the Compass. Everyone halts. As if chasing something sentient, Hongjoong holds a finger up and mouths out “wait”. The others nod, eyeing the Compass component intently. Joong tiptoes over to the nav console upon which the Compass sits. Slowly and with as much stealth as he can muster, he reaches for the piece.

Without any physical contact, it shifts, and Joong chokes on the breath he’d been holding so as to not disturb the thing. He carefully reaches again, and as if to taunt him, the piece wiggles away. Indignant, Hongjoong huffs angrily and yet again grabs for the thing.

His jaw drops as he watches the glassy surface of the Compass’s globe glow at the point of contact. The blue light twinkles just beneath the brassy piece, and little by little, the crystal clear sphere parts ever so slightly. Though its surface had always felt solid to touch, the way the light creeps apart is remnant of a barrier or shield. The blue melts away like ice, creating a hole just big enough for the tiny oblong piece to slip through. As soon as it does, falling into the chamber, the light glimmers brightly, and just as quickly as it’d come, it fades.

Hongjoong watches the piece with rapt fascination as it floats about in the globe as if lost at first. It drifts about, reacquainting itself with its surroundings. Magnetic force draws it down into the base. The oblong piece finds its spot, flawlessly slotting into its distinct place. A ring of light surrounds the piece, and the brassy engravement melts into the base. When the light fades, the Compass still appears very similar to its previous state. There are still dozens of little slots, knicks, nooks and crannies unoccupied. However that one, miniscule portion of the base appears just a slight bit more whole, more complete.

And something about that makes Hongjoong’s heart beat faster.

“It knows exactly where it goes,” Yeosang remarks in awe.

“But what does that mean?” Yunho asks. “Like- What does it do? Does that help anything?” He squints, leaning in to inspect the Compass more closely.

“I… I don’t know,” Hongjoong replies. He leans forward, fingertips grazing the glassy surface of the Compass’s globe. It feels cool and smooth to the touch. There’s no give, no heat or indication of it being anything other than what it appears to be on the superficial level. But much like everything else about the enigmatic device, there’s more than meets the eye. The captain tilts his head, running his fingers along the glassy globe, silently asking it to tell its secrets.

_ “Z-zzt!” _ A tiny discharge sparks inside the clear chamber and Hongjoong jolts back.

The trio’s collective jaws drop, and they crane their necks to take in the vision projected before them. It’s a map all the same. Bigger than ever before, the projection takes up near half the bridge, stretching high and wide above them. They practically swim among the stars charted out before them.

A beacon blinks over toward the south side - by where Yeosang is standing.

“Yeo, do you see that?!” Hongjoong gasps, pointing to the blinking point in space.

Yeosang blinks confusedly, pupils darting around until settling where Hongjoong’s finger lands, “Wh- Oh, shit. Those are coordinates, too.”

“Wait-” Yunho points to Hongjoong, “There’s one next to you, too!”

“What?!” The captain’s eyes widen and he spins around to find the alleged point. He finds it - a shining beacon among the stars and planets, marked and labelled with a lengthy set of coordinates.

The canis gasps, “Wait- Wait is this showing us two points?”

“Hongjoong!” Yeosang says from across the Compass. “Do you see a trail extending from yours?”

“A trail?” Joong had been so awestruck that he hadn’t thought to look at anything else. His focus was more on memorizing the coordinates than anything else. He checks around, inspecting for anything resmebling a trail. “Wait, I see it!” Hongjoong extends his finger, tracing the faint, dashed line. It arcs behind him, over the Compass and back toward Yeosang. The cyborg - who’d apparently had the same idea - hesitantly touches his fingertip to Hongjoong’s. 

The points connect.

Yeosang quickly withdraws his finger, “These two connect. Wait- but there’s more.”

He’s right. Hongjoong practically goes cross-eyed trying to follow all of the little trails jutting out from each beacon. Unfortunately only the two points mapped appear in the projection. Everything else fades into nothing, unable to fit within the scope of the map.

“Fuck,” Joong breathes out. “Do you think this-” He waves to the projection, “-is all for that?” He waves his finger across the Compass, pointing out numerous other little hollows and unoccupied ports. 

Yeosang shrugs, “I- I dunno. It’s plausible. I mean- That’s what led us to Amagee, right?”

“Right,” Hongjoong nibbles on his lower lip as thoughts and ideas whir through his head. He glances at the cyborg, happy to see that he’s in full theorycrafting mode, too.

“Well, for now, we’ve got two to start with,” Yunho remarks, looking between the two. The canis raises his brows expectantly at his captain. “Any idea where we wanna start?”

“Oh- God- I don’t know,” Hongjoong utters. “I wanna get some information on them first. Let’s just get the coordinates tonight and worry about analyzing them tomorrow. We seriously need to start laying low, and we’ve also got fuel to consider. But, as of right now,” He wrings a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long day.”

“Definitely,” Yeosang nods in agreement.

“Got it, captain,” Yunho nods. “I’ll note the numbers in the PC.”

“Thanks,” Joong crosses over to pull Yunho into an affectionate half-hug. “I’m gonna go check on the other kids before turning in.”

“Right.” “Got it.”

Hongjoong gives them a wave and heads down the stairs, a smile on his face. The aformentioned “kids” are doing well. Wooyoung and San chatter on the couch while Mingi brews himself a cup of tea. When the captain asks about Jongho’s whereabouts, he’s informed that their youngest has already turned in. He laughs at that tidbit. Jongho tries so hard to come off as cool and mature. He is, naturally, of course, but even so, at the end of the day he’s the one nodding off first.

In light of the day’s whirlwind of events, a lot of things got forgotten. The stress of stalling out their time on Amagee and watching Yeosang’s beacon made something very important slip the crew’s mind: meal time. After assuring Yeosang’s safety, the majority of the crew finally sat down to have a proper meal (save for Yeo himself who decided he’d rather shower for an hour). 

One person, however, fell to the wayside. Though Hongjoong had promised himself on at least three separate occasions that he would never do this again - he finds himself filling a tray yet again with a basic meal for Petty Officer Prettyboy. He makes a few comments about it to quell his inquisitive crew before descending the steps to the bottom level and entering the brig. The small jail block is always so eerily quiet in comparison to the rest of the ship. Hongjoong wonders if it’s purposefully insulated to create the effect. He doesn’t ruminate on the idea for long, though.

A familiar head of platinum blond hair juts out from the bars, brows raised inquisitively. The curious expression quickly squashes into displeasure upon sighting the delivery of his meal. Hongjoong supresses an eyeroll. Joong unceremoniously sets the tray with rice and chicken on the door’s slot, practically stuffing it through the opening before taking his regular post across from the cell.

The petty officer sets it on the hovertray in his cell and perches on his cot to eat. Or to stare at it - since that’s what he’s actually doing. Hongjoong glares at the other, irritated. He’s tired, and tonight is not a night in which he feels like sticking around longer than need be. The petty officer is usually eager to finish meals fast in the captain’s presence. Tonight is, apparently, different.

Hongjoong’s irritation weans the more he looks at the petty officer. Something about him is… Off. He’s distracted and in spite of how many hours it’d been since his last meal, he eats at a sluggish pace, slothfully lifting little morsels into his mouth. How could he possibly not be hungry? Is he sick?

The captain bites back the impulsive inquiry regarding the other’s state of health. He doesn’t care. What does it matter if Petty Officer Park’s body decides to shut down? It’s not like disposal of the body would be difficult. The guy’s declared MIA anyway, and the extra food would be a nice perk. No, he reminds himself. He doesn’t care one bit. And he’s probably imagining the uncharacteristic expression of dejection on the man’s face. It in no way makes his insides squirm. Hongjoong credits his lack of sleep for doing so - making his stomach coil strangely and imposing expressions that aren’t there on the other’s face.

“There a reason you’re so slow?” Hongjoong asks, subtly prying.

The blond takes a prolonged moment to acknowledge the captain with a look. Those azure eyes are piercing, and unlike most of their encounters during which they’re eager to shy away, they stare. The PO’s gaze bores into the captain relentlessly, something strange swimming behind the eyes. It’s not anger or resentment, not bitterness or even self-pity. Those eyes are… Searching, Hongjoong thinks. It’s like he wants something but is too prideful to ask. (It’s not as if the captain would grant it - whatever it may be - anyway.)

“The siren hasn’t killed his man, I presume?” Seonghwa says dryly, eyes back on his plate.

Joong chuckles wryly, “Would you give a shit either way?” He grimaces. “Why do you just assume San’s gonna kill everyone?”

“You weren’t here this afternoon,” The petty officer says dryly. “The two played out quite the drama.”

Hongjoong narrows his eyes, irritation bubbling in his gut. That’s right. Prettyboy was there. He was present for the entire thing. In fact, he probably heard everything. Sure, Joong told him to “conflict mediate” - but he was joking. Did the other take him seriously? Or was he just too damn bored to refuse the temptation to eavesdrop?

“Then you’ll know they resolved things,” Joong replies, clipped.

The blond rests an elbow on his hovertray and stares again. His gaze presses down heavily on the captain’s shoulders, making him wish he could disappear into the walls or something. Seriously, what does the other  _ want _ ?

“Well, I don’t know if resolved is the most apt way to put it,” The blond shrugs. “I mean, if you heard what they said. Especially the poor siren-” He tuts his tongue.

Hongjoong grits his teeth, “You don’t give a shit about my crew, so why don’t you drop the subject?”

The platinum blond quirks an eyebrow, and his suspiciously pink, perfect lips tilt up ever so slightly. The smug expression enrages Hongjoong more. Not wishing to indulge the other, he tries his best to school his expression into something unbothered.

“ _ Oh _ . It's driving you crazy, isn’t it?” Petty Officer Prettyboy chuckles. 

  
“Excuse you?”

“Not knowing what they said and knowing that  _ I _ do,” The blond smirks. The provocation is frustratingly effective. Heat flushes the captain’s face, creeping up his neck and across his cheeks.

“As if you would have any use for that information.”

“I’ll give you a play by play if you let me out,” The blond purrs, entirely too satisfied with his meager one-up. Hongjoong narrows his eyes at the other. He can scarcely tell when the prim blond is being serious or not anymore. He may very well be genuine, willing to leverage anything he can just to get what he wants. Hongjoong can’t fault him for that - he’d likely do the same. However, unlike the other, he’s not in the disadvantaged position. He’s by no means obligated to indulge the petty officer.

“Just eat,” Hongjoong growls. He forgot why he doesn’t come down to the brig anymore. It happens far too often, seriously. He goes a while without being in Prettyboy’s presence and then forgets why he absolutely cannot tolerate it. The two haven’t erupted into a loud argument, at least. He counts that as a sort of improvement towards the fortification of his nerves.

Thankfully, the blond doesn’t make any further comment. Hongjoong watches the other eat without a word. His paced has picked up a bit, but it’s still slow. Sullen, almost. He eats like someone who’s depressed.

Hongjoong blinks confusedly, shocked at his own meandering thoughts. He slaps his rhetorical wrist. No, he urges himself, don’t think about him like that. Don’t give him feelings. He’s a traitorous bastard who damn near got not only ATEEZ’s crew killed, but hundreds of others, too. He deserves everything that’s coming to him and more. He deserved to get shot dead in that warship. The only reason he wasn’t is because…

Because Hongjoong saved him.

The captain frowns.

The silence between them thickens into something profoundly uncomfortable - at least, Hongjoong thinks it is. Seonghwa looks the same as he did before. Glum, with a faraway look in his eyes. By the time the blond finishes, it feels like an hour has passed. It’s really only been minutes. He sets his tray onto the ledge in his door, and it slides through quickly. Hongjoong grabs it, happy to leave.

Though he means to depart, he lingers. Seonghwa’s eyes follow him. His gaze isn’t scrutinizing or scolding. Hongjoong’s lips quiver, nearly saying something. But what? He has nothing to say to the man who’s nearly gotten his crew killed multiple times. 

“What is your real goal?” A voice penetrates the silence, hushed and mum. 

Hongjoong’s eyes widen in shock, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Hesitantly, the platinum blond approaches his bars and asks again, more loudly, “What is your real goal, Kim Hongjoong?”

He used the name again. That always delivers a shock to Hongjoong’s system. The other doesn’t spit the name venomously, either. The PO’s tone is neutral if not wavering.

“My real goal?” Hongjoong huffs disdainfully. He owes the other nothing - not an explanation, not even a response.

“Yes. Your real goal,” The blond says, his cerulean eyes yet again drilling determinedly into Hongjoong’s. “You do have one, don’t you?”

“What- D’you fancy a laugh?” Hongjoong’s brows furrow. “Since that’s what you do every time I say it.”

The petty officer’s lips press into a thin line. Surprisingly, there isn’t any patronization or condescension about his demeanor. He appears stressed more than anything.

“As phony as I think your ‘mission’ is, you lead a crew of real people, captain,” There it is. The tone. The acidity. The anger dripping from the word “captain”; the syllables dropped at the other’s feet with malice.

“I’m well aware of that,” Hongjoong clutches the tray more tightly. “What I’m  _ not  _ aware of is why  _ you  _ give a shit.”

Seonghwa shudders slightly, red rising up his neck and settling on his cheeks, “Those people believe in you, you know. As- as ill-founded as that belief is, it’s genuine. They rely on you, they have faith in you. They listen to you.” He shakes his head, disappointed.

“And?” Hongjoong responds crossly. 

“Your mission may be a fantasy, but their lives real. You’re throwing them into dangerous situations for- for what?”

“I’m- I’m sorry, I’m what-?!” The captain throws his tray down angrily, trudging up to the bars and sticking his face close. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Just because they bring you food sometimes doesn’t mean you know shit about them.”

“I know a lot more than you think,” The blond says. “Learned a lot today alone thanks to your little stunt.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, backing up, “My ship, my crew, my methods.”

“Ha-” The petty officer laughs mirthlessly. “Your ship, your-” He laughs again. “That’s precisely the dangerous shit I’m talking about.”

“What?”

“You stole this ship and declared yourself fucking captain like a child playing make believe. You can call yourself whatever you want, but that doesn’t mean you know  _ shit  _ about being a real captain.”

“And you do? Last I checked you were a petty officer. Pretty sure that’s a few ranks below captain.”

“Oh, please-”

“No, you please. Are you bored? Attention starved? Why do you always have to- have to stir shit? Stop acting like you care about my crew when we both know you don’t.”

“And you do?”

“What?”

“Do  _ you _ ? Because I’m beginning to wonder. I always knew you were full of shit. Now I’m starting to wonder if you even know  _ half  _ the shit that goes on between these people who look up to you. If you even care.”

The accusation drives into Hongjoong’s chest, ire drilling into his heart and dripping into his gut. It’s unfair. It’s so fucking unfair. How, he wonders, how the hell does Petty Officer Park always do this? How is he so damn observant that he manages to find the weaknesses? Is it dumb luck? Or the result of hours of alone time - too much time to contemplate just where to aim the shot?

“You don’t know anything,” Hongjoong snarls, his voice a low, angry hum. Heat rushes to his eyes, but he adamantly keeps the wetness at bay. “You’re sad and alone. You resent the fact that I’m surrounded by people who care about me and each other.”

“And you deserve  _ none  _ of it. What the hell have you done to prove that you’re worthy? You might call yourself yourself a captain but you don’t know the first thing about being a captain.”

“What? Because I’m not wearing a uniform? Because I don’t make my crew salute me and kiss my ass every time I walk by?”

“Why don’t you ask yourself: why does your crew feel more comfortable discussing their issues in the damn brig than they do in your presence?”

“I-” Hongjoong’s mouth snaps shut. Guilt churns in his guts. He made the decision to lock the other two up for their own good. He may be a leader, but he’s no therapist. They ended up resolving things adequately, anyway. His presence would’ve likely hindered it. But not because he’s a bad leader.

Right?

“I don’t need to listen to this,” Joong mutters weakly. He lets out a sigh, backing off and wringing a hand over his face. He starts walking away.

“Hey!” Seonghwa calls after him stubbornly. 

“I’m not listening-”

“Your crew speaks highly of you, you know!”

Hongjoong halts. What was that? A compliment?

“If you’re as fucking kind and caring as they say, then prove it,” The blond huffs. 

Joong doesn’t bother turning around, facing the door as he responds, “I’m not just gonna open that door and let you stroll out to prove how ‘nice’ I am.”

“I know,” The petty officer responds somberly. 

That makes the captain take pause. Going against his determination, he glances at the other over his shoulder. From the door, all he can see is half of the other’s face, cheek squashed against the bars. There’s a shadow cast over his eyes - be it from a trick of the light or from within the officer himself, Joong doesn’t know.

If he knows, then what’s his angle, then? Hongjoong wonders. What incentive does he have to encourage Hongjoong to be kind to his crew - a crew of people that he himself doesn’t care about one bit?

Hongjoong doesn’t have a response for that. He walks back out into the loading bay, ignoring the fact that he’d left a tray discarded on the floor. Like hell is he going to turn back to grab the dishes now. He’s too bothered, their conversation dragging up a multitude of ugly emotions. The feelings toss around in Hongjoong’s stomach - regret, inadequacy, uncertainty and irritation. 

Tired.

That’s what he is.

  
He’s tired.

Hongjoong chalks up the sick feelings stewing in his gut to tiredness. Not to the other getting into his head - because he doesn’t. The petty officer’s words are empty. The pathetic ramblings of a desperate man clinging onto his last hope to drag down someone he sees as better than himself. Empty words whose only origin is ignorance.

The captain drags himself up the steps and into his room. A couple more have retired to bed, and he throws out a few mumbled good nights to those who remain. His shower is quick, and he’s ready to pass out the second his head hits the pillow. 

It’s vexing, though. 

  
Try as he might, he can’t shake the image of the prisoner’s face out of his head. It sticks to the back of his mind as if burned there. Wet blue eyes stare into the captain’s very soul until exhaustion finally takes over, pulling him into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Yunho wakes up in an instant, ears picking up a soft noise outside his door. His senses are just as much a burden as they are a blessing. Enhanced hearing can be a boon, but it also results in many nights of fitful sleep. He stirs at the small provocation, tossing and turning with the stubborn hope that he can fall back asleep.

But he knows himself better than that.

Busy body, busy mind - that’s how Yunho would describe himself. If he’s roused, he finds it difficult to lapse back into restfulness. Sometimes, he just stays in bed. But the noise outside his door sounded like steps, and curiosity pulls the canis out from under his sheets.

Yunho yawns, stretching languidly as he approaches his door. A shiver runs up his spine as the pads of his feet make contact with the cool metal beneath. He makes a note to - at some point - get more socks or slippers. Soft shuffling stirs in the kitchen. The activity draws the humecanis in.

As he turns the corner, familiar scents waft into his nose. Green tea. The faint smell of cleaning chemicals. The slightest hint of sweat underlining an almost floral, fresh smell. 

Mingi.

The Venusian hadn’t turned on the main lights, serving himself by the low ambers kept on only for nighttime wayfinding. Yunho frowns, descending the steps slowly. Mingi pauses, glancing up at Yunho. He gasps, jolting slightly and nearly spilling his tea in the process. A bit of hot liquid spills over the brim of his cup, and he mutters curses sheepishly under his breath.

“Sorry,” Yunho apologizes as he approaches the other’s side. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Did I wake you?” Mingi asks with a frown, head low.

“No,” Yunho lies. The sound  _ did  _ technically wake him up, but if it wasn’t Mingi, it could’ve been anyone. People constantly pass by, clumsily plodding to the bathroom or sneaking around to grab a late night snack. “Just couldn’t sleep. Mind if I join you?”

“You’re always welcome to join me,” Mingi replies softly. “Want a cup?” He gestures to his steaming mug of tea.

“Yeah- Wh- I can make it myself!” Yunho stutters as the Venusian turns to grab a mug for Yunho. 

“Let me,” Mingi waves the other away casually. “It’s really no trouble.”

Yunho’s face heats up, affection warming to a low simmer in his chest. He’s so cute and kind. Yunho accepts the other’s offer. Normally he’d insist on doing things himself, but he knows how important it is for Mingi to do stuff like that. As much as he likes to feel cared for, the Venusian doesn’t like to be patronized. He likes to feel like he’s being helpful. Sometimes, something as small as making a cup of tea helps him. Yunho can see it, the tiny glimmer of confidence blooming across his face, the easing of tension, the little smiles.

“Thanks,” Yunho says fondly. He leans heavily against the counter, heart pitter-pattering against his sternum. His tail swishes happily as he watches the other serve him. The giddiness falters, though, when he peeks at one of the refrigeration PCs. It’s the middle of the night. What’s Mingi doing up?

Yunho’s lips purse into a pout, “What are you doing up at this hour?” He asks the other.

Mingi’s brows raise in surprise, and he chuckles, “Just, um, kinda got up.” A dip in his tone betrays something more. Yunho concludes: he’s having the nightmares again. He’s noticed over the past weeks that they come and go. They seemed to disappear for awhile, but after breaking out of the Stray Boyz stronghold, they quickly returned.

“Is anything bothering you?” Yunho ventures, inspecting the other’s face.

Mingi shakes his head in denial, “No, nothing in particular. Just-” He shrugs, “-it’s interesting.”

“What is?” Yunho asks. He graciously takes the mug that the Venusian slides over tohim. 

“Everything,” Mingi responds. “Iunno, I just… Tierrohada… Amagee… It’s a nice place, don’t you think? Too bad we couldn’t stick around.”

“Mingi, I told you, you could’ve taken the deal-”

“That’s- That’s not what I meant,” Mingi rushes to quell the canis’s doubts. His plush lips turn down into a deeper frown, and guilt pangs in Yunho’s chest. He just wants Mingi to feel safe. Tierrohada would’ve been safe. It would’ve been more than safe. Mingi probably would’ve been happy there. He would have thrived easily. The canis’s tail sags slightly at the ruminations.

“I wouldn’t think any less of you, you know,” Yunho responds. “None of us would have.”

“It’s not that,” Mingi says. “I didn’t want to stay, but…” He nibbles on his lower lip, searching for the words to express himself. From what Yunho knows, it’s fairly new to the former prince - expressing his emotions openly and honestly. The canis gets the feeling that it’s still not quite Mingi’s forte, but he’s trying now that he’s able to. “I guess I just can’t imagine what it’s like for them.”

“Who?” Yunho asks. “The people of Tierrohada?”

“Yeah,” Mingi nods. His shoulders slump a bit. “They’re so… So open. So forward thinking. I was serious when I spoke to the Ambassador: I envy them. What a privilege it must be to have been born there.”

Yunho bites his tongue, holding back his impulsive comment on Mingi’s immense amount of privilege. The Venusian, always surprisingly astute, gasps softly.

He stutters, “Not that I- I don’t mean-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yunho shrugs. Mingi can’t help the life he was born into any more than Yunho can. In truth, Yunho’s a lot luckier than many. He’s certain that many would envy his circumstances. 

“Sorry,” Mingi says anyway. He heaves a sigh, lifting his mug to blow on the steam. Things go quiet, and Yunho can’t help feeling bad for souring the mood. He didn’t mean to! He wonders if his tail gave him away or if he had a look on his face.

“Wanna sit down?” The canis asks to cut through the awkward silence.

Mingi nods, following Yunho to the kitchen table. The two sit side by side, and Mingi takes the liberty to lean over, resting his head on Yunho’s shoulder. Yunho tries to ignore the fast swishing of his tail and continue conversation.

“It’s okay, you know,” Yunho says. “To wanna be born somewhere else. I guess I can’t imagine the hardships of being a prince, but if you say it’s shitty, then I believe it.”

Mingi worries at his lower lip, “It was far from shitty from an objective standpoint.” He keeps quiet out of consideration. “No, there were lots of nice things about it. Like…” He stares at the steam dancing up from his plain silver mug. “How, when I got out of bed late at night, I would bully the governess - like, my babysitter. She always tried to get me back to bed, but I’d just cry until she took me down to the kitchens. She’d have them make this creamy drink with eggs and cream and milk and, like cinnamon. It was warm and super yummy, and it would just, like, take me right the fuck out-” He laughs. “I’d be just gone.”

Yunho chuckles. He pictures young Mingi pouting, tugging at the skirts of some Venusian castle staff.

“Guess that’s why I just go for the tea now,” Mingi says. “Nothing like a hot beverage on a sleepless night.”

“You’ve been having quite a few of those lately,” Yunho murmurs. Mingi simply shrugs at that, squeezing his mug without actually bothering to drink its contents. “You know, you can talk about it,” The canis tries.

“It’s fine,” Mingi counters.

“Mingi, I’m serious.”

“Yunho, so am I,” The Venusian sits up, looking the canis in the eye deliberately. His face is still slightly swollen from what sleep he’d gotten, and the neat style he’d worn for their con has long since fallen, long bangs flopping into his face and waves curling erratically among the straight hair.

What a sight to behold, Yunho thinks. As much as Mingi tries to shake that princely image of his, Yunho can’t help thinking about it. Who else but royalty could possibly look so divine when they’d just risen in the middle of the night for a cup of tea? His sharp jaw and high cheeks, gorgeous, distinguished nose and plush lips, his natural luminesence catching in the low nightlight - they captivate Yunho.

He only wishes he were worthy of the other. It’s not that Yunho thinks terribly of himself. He knows he has some strong assets, some less so. But is he worthy of Mingi? That’s something he still debates inside his head. Even if he did feel good enough for the other, he thinks it would be bold to presume that Mingi would ever want him. Sure, there have been moments, but they were just that - moments. Yunho can tell the other likes attention. He thrives with it, drinks it up, basks in it as if it’s the sun, and Yunho is all too happy to give it. It’s a mutually beneficial thing. Not assurance of mutual interest, per se.

“If you didn’t know us, would you have stayed on Amagee?” Yunho blurts out the question. He isn’t sure why.

“What?” Mingi’s brows knit together, confused and surprised.

“Would you have stayed if you never knew us? If you somehow managed to escape and make it there?”

Mingi leans back, dark eyes searching the canis, “That’s… An interesting question. Why do you ask?”

Yunho wishes he knew.

“I just- Iunno maybe we can- we can someday go back when this is all past us. Maybe you can go back,” Yunho mutters. “I think you’d fit in there is all.”

“Do I not… Fit in here?” Mingi’s tone drops. Another spear of guilt pierces Yunho’s chest. He scolds himself: how dare you make things worse! Now he feels unwanted!

“That’s- that’s not what I’m saying,” Yunho sputters, face burning. He hopes the other doesn’t notice in the low light. “I just- I dunno. It seems like the people there are… Likeminded to you. You seemed to get along with everyone. Y-You and the Ambassador and all that. You really hit it off.”

“Wait- The Ambassador?” Mingi tilts his head, probably more baffled.

Yunho’s brain goes into a tizzy, struggling to recover the fragments of his thoughts into something cohesive and sensible, “I just like that for you, you know? I’m glad you got to actually talk to someone about- I dunno, things you care about. Things that matter that are all… Intellectually stimulating and stuff.” He fidgets with his mug.

“W-Well, I mean, it was mostly an act,” Mingi scratches his nape, embarrased. “To be honest, I’m just glad I was useful, to be honest. Didn’t think I’d be worth much on a ship with a noble upbringing.”

“C’mon, Mingi, you’re more than table manners and big words,” Yunho nudges him with his elbow. “I mean, shit, I’m just a pilot. Who’s tall.” He laughs at himself. “I get the captain stuff off of high shelves sometimes but with you on the ship, even that job is no longer as secure.”

Mingi’s tension finally breaks, and he lets out a snort, his face scrunching cutely, “Don’t discredit yourself. You’ve got a bit of height on me.”

“Yeah, well,” Yunho shrugs. “That’s about it.”

“Yunho, that is not  _ it _ ,” The Venusian says.

“I dunno,” The canis protests. “I’ve lived with myself for, like, two decades. I’d like to think I know myself pretty well. It’s alright, I’m okay with me.”

“Yunho…”

“I’m serious, I- I’m fine. Really. Just like you should be fine with yourself. More than fine. Because you’re more than fine. You’re, like, awesome,” Embarrassment ignites another wave of heat down Yunho’s body. He doesn’t know how his fat mouth led them into an awkward place of ineloquent affirmations.

“Yeah, well, you’re more than fine, too,” Mingi says with a little grin. He knocks his shoulder into Yunho’s with a soft chuckle. Though the compliment is minor - barely a compliment, really, and more a reciprocation of kind sentiment - it affects the canis immensely. Yunho’s heart does about twenty flips in his chest before bursting into dozens of butterflies flapping around excitedly. He urges himself to calm down, schooling his voice into something cool and definitely not devastated by how hot and cute and nice his seat neighbor is.

“I mean, maybe,” Yunho tries to act nonchalant, eyes focusing on his mug like the (probably lukewarm now) liquid is the most fascinating thing in the room. “I’m no beautiful, educated Ambassador with perfect lips and twinkley eyes, though.”

Mingi chuckles, “Hmm, yeah, she was really pretty, wasn’t she?”

“Mhm,” The butterflies in Yunho’s chest promptly drop dead into his stomach at that. They shrivel up and die, turned to dust by noxious jealousy filling his guts.

“Like, super gorgeous,” Mingi adds.

“Yeah.”

“Well-spoken, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And the way she smiled was… Kind of cute, wasn’t it? For someone so pretty to also have a cute side is- just, wow.”

“Yeah,” Yunho chokes out his response, grip tightening on his mug. He literally walked into this. He paved the path and invited Mingi to walk on it. Now, he feels like a complete dumbass for playing himself like that, jealousy stewing in his stomach as Mingi lavishes compliment after compliment on the gorgeous woman from before.

“She’d definitely be a dream girl, for sure.”

“Definitely,” Yunho nods.

“But… I dunno.”

“Huh?” The canis’s strained definitely-not-dying-of-jealosy expression drops in utter confusion.

Mingi shrugs with a smirk, “I mean, she was definitely great. A ten out of ten, but… She’s not my type.”

Yunho’s jaw drops. Not his type? If Ambassador Soojin - described by the Venusian as a ten out of ten - isn’t his type, then what the hell is? How high are they if she’s not enough? 

“She’s not?” Yunho asks dumbly.

Mingi shakes his head, grin wide and eyes peculiarly mischievous, “Nope.”

“Do I dare ask what is?”

The Venusian chuckles, “I guess I like… Tall.”

“Oh.” It makes sense, Yunho thinks. Mingi is tall. Of course he would want someone tall, too.

“Brunette maybe… Short hair. And, I dunno I guess all my life I’ve been around posh, scholarly types I just… Have grown tired of them. To be honest, I don’t give a shit what someone’s pedigree is or how many certificates they have. I just- I want someone nice,” He worries at his lower lip, gaze finding Yunho’s. “Someone with a good heart who may not be the most educated or regal but is- is kind and honest.”

“Oh,” Yunho’s jealousy relaxes slightly, and his heart resumes aching with want and affection. It’s so sweet. Even after all he’d been taught, how he’d been raised a certain way, what Mingi wants more than anything is the same thing everyone wants. Someone to love him, to cherish him and care for him genuinely. A kind soul to share himself with. The butterflies in Yunho’s stomach reanimate, fluttering boisterously yet again. The canis gives the other a warm smile and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Mingi I- I…” He finds the other’s eyes and takes a deep breath. Mingi leans in, rapt attention fixed on the other. 

Eyes locked on Mingi’s, tone soft, heart thrumming from the sheer proximity, Yunho tells him, “I hope you find someone like that one day.”

Mingi’s attentive expression abruptly falls into something resmbling bafflement mixed with disbelief. Yunho doesn’t understand why the other would possibly confused. Had he not been clear? Of course he wants Mingi to find happiness some day!

“Yunho, are you fucking kidding me?” Mingi asks, dead serious.

Nervous sweat collects at the canis’s nape, “Uh- Wait- What? What did I s-” A rough force tugs Yunho forward, and suddenly his lips are smashed against the other’s. 

All thought entirely ceases for a couple of seconds due to the complete shock of it.

Is Mingi… Kissing him?

Yunho takes inventory of the physical sensations he’s feeling, and he determines that, yes, the Venusian is kissing him. Those plush lips are pressing against his while an arm wraps around his shoulders. Following the establishment of those facts is the rapid onslaught of bodily reactions. Electricity crackles inside the canis’s body, igniting a flame that burns him from his chest to his toes. His heart near ceases to beat and his breath catches in his throat. When reality genuinely dawns on him, Yunho doesn’t hesitate to act. He reciprocates the gesture, kissing in earnest, all the things he so determinedly held back pouring into the other. Their kiss begins fairly chaste - lips on lips, hands wrapped around a neck, shoulders.

The two - for their many good qualities - happen to severly lack in one thing as a unit: impulse control.

It’d been so, so long since Yunho felt this way, and to have the feelings reciprocated brings him a dizzying high he isn’t sure he’s known before. Things escalate, fast. Teeth gnash and guttural sounds leak out from between their feverish lips. At some point, Mingi ends up in Yunho’s lap, thick thighs straddling the canis’s legs, keeping him pinned in place on the chair. As if he’d want to move, anyway.

Yunho’s body actually shakes from the sheer intensity as the ministrations grow more carnal. He nips and bites, sucking swollen lips between his own, prodding between them with his tongue. The little gasps and whimpers trickling out from the Venusian intoxicate the humecanis. He drinks them up eagerly, wanting for more, wanting to figure out how to get more. Mingi ruts against his thighs needily all the while, clearly just as desperate (if not moreso) than Yunho. Yunho growls following a particularly delicious little whine leaves Mingi’s mouth, and his hands start to wander down the other’s sides.

_ “Click.” _

Without warning, bright, white light floods Yunho’s vision. He damn near hisses, eyes sensitive and sore from the sudden intrusion. He unlatches himself from Mingi, blinking furiously until the smudgy shapes in his vision clear. When he comes to, a single, sleepy figure looms by the entrance to the kitchen.

Standing with a sleepy expression of judgmental annoyance is their lovely youngest, Choi Jongho. Hair juts out from his head in every direction, and the swell of his face exaggerates his already natural pout. 

Yunho blinks at him.

Jongho blinks back.

Mingi blinks at Jongho.

Jongho blinks at Mingi.

The three of them engage in a silent stare-off, and the awkwardness rolls in like a thick fog. Jongho’s mouth open, and Yunho winces, awaiting cutting remarks of disgust.

Instead of speaking, Jongho simply closes his mouth. He turns around and leaves without so much as a syllable.

Yunho and Mingi exchange wide-eyed glances, shocked and embarrassed for a few minutes.

Mingi’s the first to break, letting out a loud snort. Yunho follows, and the two rapidly devolve into side-splitting laughter. Mingi buries his face in Yunho’s shaking shoulders, loud, mirthful laughter tickling the canis’s collarbone. Yunho tries to cover his mouth as his tail swishes rapidly.

When breathing becomes painful, Yunho finally manages to stop. Wiping a tear from his eyes, he shakily whispers, “I- I think we should go to bed.”

Mingi picks his head up off of Yunho’s shoulder and nods, “Y-Yeah.” He flashes the canis another playful grin and adds, “The question is: who’s?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // NOTE:  
\- Yunho does growl. Like GROWL growls I'm talking beastly. You can thank Rose_Piano for the idea. It's not often I implement other's ideas but it was too brill to not have.
> 
> Big thanks to Rose_Piano again !!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> // thank you as always for reading!! reminder/notes:  
* tagged sexual harassment for later chapters as it will happen to a character, be warned  
* traditional feminine qualities and traits mentioned/discussed in relation to planet populous & gender  
* i kno shit all abt chess and basically copied their match from a video i watched on smth called The Halloween Gambit credit to (source: https://youtu.be/roz1YeJjvUY )  
* woosan's argument is v heavily based off of an exchange from the movie waiting... (2005) so i wanna give cr there bc i dont wanna just pass it off as my own idea it was just such a perf fic  
per usual, follow my twatter @0KKULTiC curiouscat etc
> 
> BIG THANKS to my new beta Rose_Piano ✨💖 !! now this fic will be much less disastrous !!


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